Call of Duty: Modern Warfare: Rising Force
by WOLFxVSlayer667
Summary: In the year 2011, Ultranationalist rebels wage war within Russia. The consequences of the war could affect the world as a whole, and only the American and British forces can save the world, but can they get there in time?
1. Prologue: FNG

Call of Duty 

Modern Warfare

"Well, sir," Gaz said, turning around. "I've got good news and I've got bad news. Mind you, I'd rather start off with the good news." Gaz was a British Special Forces operative in the SAS (Special Air Support) military legion. The man he was talking to, another British man with whose graying hair and aging face completely betrayed the fact that he was a battle-hardened, elite soldier. Even in his late forties, nothing could keep him away from the battlefield. His name was Captain John Price, the leader of the SAS.

"Well then, don't tarry, just get on with the report, alright?" Price ordered with a hint of annoyance in his voice.

"Very well sir, the world is in great shape despite the civil war going on in Russia. Ultranationalist rebels against the loyalist forces of the Russian military. The complicating part of this is the unfortunate fact that there are well over fifteen thousand nukes at stake."

"Just another day at the office, I suppose," Price said with a hint of sarcasm embedded in his voice. Gaz typed a few keys and brought up an image of a man with tan skin, sunglasses, militia-style clothing, and an air of authority that clearly stated 'I'm in charge'. "So who is this?"

"His name is Kaled Al-Asad. Intel's keeping an eye on him, and they say he's got the minerals to be top dog in Saudi Arabia," he said. "He's currently trying to push right into the capital and get at Al-Fulani, but knowing that hell-hole, he's not going to have a 'helluva time trying to get at him."

"All right, so if that's supposedly the good news," Price said with a scowl. "Then what's the bad news?" Gaz sighed, bringing up an image of a younger man-probably in his late twenties to early thirties-with a short Mohawk and dark tattooed lines running vertically down his face.

"The bad news is that we've got a new guy joining us today, fresh out of selection," Gaz said. "His name is Soap."

"FNG"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

United Kingdom, SAS HQ

2011

"Well, mate," Gaz said with finality. "You've passed the weapons test near flawlessly." Soap tried to hide a slight smile of satisfaction. Unfortunately, Gaz noticed it, and shook his head with disapproval. "Captain Price wants to see you, mate, but don't act so full of yourself, you can't go around looking like an arse when you're only now on the team. The Cap's in the hangar, he wants to see you."

"Aye, sir," Soap replied, running out of the training facility at a steady jog. He arrived at the door the main hangar, which conveniently opened at his arrival. Inside were several men in military uniforms. In the middle of their group was an aged man with a graying mustache on his face. He eyed Soap contently. One of the soldiers, Staff Sergeant Wallcroft, nodded to Soap, who returned the gesture in suite; they had met in training before only a few months ago.

"It's the FNG, sir," Wallcroft said. "Go easy on him, sir, it's his first day in a regiment." Price looked him over, betraying no emotion save for…what? Suspicion? No, why would he be suspicious of Soap? He had never done anything to make anyone suspicious of him.

"Right," Price said skeptically. Ah, so he was simply skeptical, not suspicious. Well, maybe it wasn't simple, but it was far better that suspicion. "So, MacTavish, what the hell kind of a name is Soap?" When he didn't answer, he continued. "How did a muppet like you pass selection?" He shook his head in disgust. Wallcroft sighed. "Well, let's get this over with, Soap. It's your turn for the CQB-Close Quarters Battle-test. Climb up that ladder." He said, pointing at a ladder that led to the top of a large wooden lookout near the ceiling of the facility.

He did as he was told and saw a standard issue MP5 submachine gun and four tactical flash grenades, also known as 'Flashbangs'. He picked these up and equipped them to his personal arsenal, then looked down. A zip line led down to a large wooden reconstructed a freighter-well, a small part of an actual freighter.

"Soap, when tell you, you're going to rappel down and take out every one of the pop-up targets as fast as you can, following my precise instructions as you go while I monitor your progress," Price called. "Your objective is to finish the training course as fast as possible. Gaz holds the squadron record at nineteen seconds, and the standard is thirty, so don't screw up. Now, rappel down when you're ready." Soap made sure that the MP5 was secure, then grabbed the line and zoomed down. As soon as he hit the wooden deck, three targets popped up. He dropped them instantly, sprinting down the stairs to another target. He knifed him, and then threw a flashbang in the next room.

Once he heard the muffled explosion, he ran in, firing at the targets. He did this routine for the next three rooms, only then ran around through the back door and sprinted to the finish. Gaz was fuming. "That was impressive, Soap," he said. That was a grand total of seventeen seconds." Gaz may have looked sour, but at least Price was content with Soap's performance. "Alright men the cargo ship mission is a go, get yourselves sorted out now. Wheels move out at oh-two-hundred. Dismissed."


	2. Chapter 1: Crew Expendable

"Crew Expendable"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Somewhere in the Bering Strait

2011

"_Men," Price said into his microphone inside of the Black Hawk. "The intel on this op comes from our informant in Russia. The package is on a medium-sized freighter, Estonian registration number five-two-seven-seven-five."_

_ "What are we looking for, sir? What's in the package?" Soap piped up, getting a glare from Price._

_ "That's _classified_ information, kid, so quiet down," Soap frowned but did as he was told. "As I was saying, there is a small crew and a security detail on board."_

_ "Rules of engagement, sir?" Gaz asked._

_ "The crew's expendable." Price said in a flat tone._

"TWENTY SECONDS!" The pilot called from the cockpit of the helicopter, his face briefly illuminated from the lightning outside. The pilot fought the controls as the raging storm fought the chopper. The rain and wind howled outside, the colossal waves of the Pacific Ocean crashing down below. Soap, Price, Gaz, Wallcroft, and two other SAS, Reel and Griffen, sat cramped together in the crew compartment of the Black Hawk. Each of them carried suppressed MP5s to limit the amount of noise they made on the ship.

Soap looked outside, squinting as the rain whipped around him. Outside of the Black Hawk, a massive freighter sat in the ocean, waves smashing against its steel hull. "GOING DARK…NOW!" The pilot called. The lights on the Black Hawk dimmed-not as though it did much in particular; it was too dark to see anything save for Price's cigar, a small red flame a few feet from Soap's face. He blew out a puff of smoke and looked at the freighter. Flicking the cigar away, he pulled a mask onto his face to limit water from affecting his sight. Soap, Gaz, Wallcroft, Reel, and Griffen did the same. A red light flashed in the hold and a line fell down as they hovered over the deck of the ship.

"GO, GO, GO!" The pilot yelled. Soap slid down and touched the deck just as Price said, "Weapons free!" Soap lifted the MP5 and fired through the windows at the crew. He wasn't completely sure about killing the crew-what if they were innocent? No matter; the men he cut down were carrying AK47s, so he had no need to worry about killing innocents if they could shoot back. Price began to run to the door on the side of the ship. They were standing next to the auxiliary command bridge, mainly used for navigation.

"Gaz, you and Griffen secure the deck," Price said. "Soap, Wallcroft, on me!"

"Roger, sir!" They all answered in unison. Price turned the valve on the door and opened it, Wallcroft taking point inside. They briefly scouted the auxiliary bridge for any remaining hostiles before turning to the stairs. Soap heard the slight buzzing of Wallcroft's suppressed MP5, and found a drunken sailor on the ground. Soap moved inside and found two sleeping engineers. He hardened his heart so he would not appear weak in front of Price and Wallcroft, and swiftly slit their throats with his knife, making sure that they died as quickly as possible, feeling little or no pain whatsoever. Price motioned for him to come out and they once again ran into the howling maelstrom.

"Gaz, Griffen, is the deck secure?" Price asked when they regrouped near the stairway to the main deck.

"Yes sir," Gaz replied.

"Good, now everyone move out! I want you all at a three meter spread!" They complied and cautiously walked down towards the central command bridge of the ship. Twice, Soap nearly slipped on the rain-slicked deck of the ship, having to steady himself on one of the various crates that littered it. "Two tangos on the platform ahead!"

"I see them!" Soap answered, talking into his communication link. He took careful aim and fired two bullets, penetrating the head of the first target. He dropped the second one quickly so he couldn't sound the alarm. Soap formed up behind Captain Price and walked up to the bridge.

"GET DOWN!" Price ordered, slamming Soap onto the deck of the ship. Immediately, bullets flew through the windows of the bridge. The rest of the SAS took cover behind crates and littering debris as they took fire. "Hammer 2-1!" He called the helicopter pilot into his comlink. "We're taking heavy fire from hostiles on the second floor of the deck at the central command bridge, over!"

"Copy your last, Captain, coming in hot!" The pilot responded. A few moments later, the Black Hawk flew overhead. The minigun on the Black Hawk began to spool up and the massive bullets fired into the bridge, mowing down all of the contacts inside. Once it was clear, the Black Hawk gunner stopped firing. "Captain Price, we're at bingo-fuel. We're heading back to the ship. We'll send Vulture 2 to pick you up when your mission is complete, alright?"

"Copy your last, Hammer," Price replied as the small team made their way up to the door on the lower portion of the bridge. "Wallcroft, Griffen, stay on the deck until we secure the manifest."

"Roger that, sir," Wallcroft replied. Price, Soap, Gaze, and Reel formed up at the door. Gaz strapped his MP5 to his back and took out a shotgun.

"I like to keep this for close encounters," he said. Soap could just imagine the grin on his face under that mask. Reel nodded.

"Too right, mate." He said. With that, Price swung open the door and they rushed in, prepared for whatever they would find. What they found, however, was-nothing at all. The hallway was empty, which surprised even Price. He motioned for the team to move up and check their corners. They made their way through the bowels of the ship, but found nothing in its many passageways. They found a slightly ajar door and walked towards it. Reel poked his head in and shot right back out, nearly taking a bullet to the brain. Price cleared away and pulled out a small canister.

"Flashbang out!" He called, throwing the canister inside. It bounced off of the walls and hit the floor, blinding and deafening the crew below. They walked in, firing at the men inside. "Move up!" With several more skirmishes, one in which Soap was attacked from a man behind him and Price having to tear him off before he got the chance to strangle Soap; they finally made it into a cluttered bay full of crates and boxes inside. A button on Gaz's wrist began to blink and beep uncontrollably as he neared one of the crates in the back of the bay.

"Captain Price," he said, calling everyone over. "I'm getting a bloody strong reading, sir!"

"All right, open it up," he ordered. What they found was surprising; a large crate sat inside of the container, a cell phone, clipboard, and Saudi Arabian flag sitting on top of it. Price looked genuinely confused. "Hm, it's in Arabic." He muttered.

"What does this mean, sir?" Gaz asked him.

"Don't know," he said, switching his radio channel. "Overlord, this Bravo 6. We have the package secure and we're ready for extraction, over." Overlord was the American commander in charge of their operation, a man in his early forties who gave orders to the troops within American borders.

"Negative, Bravo 6, there's no time," Overlord replied. "I'm reading two bogeys heading toward your position. Gather what you can and get the hell outta there!"

"I'm getting them too, sir," Reel said. "Fast-movers, probably MIGs, we've got to go!"

"Copy that, Overlord, Bravo 6 out," Price replied. "Soap, grab the manifest in the container. And try not to lose it." He said. Soap nodded, grabbing the clipboard and putting it in his backpack. They ran from the bay back the way they came. "Wallcroft, Griffen, what's your status, over?"

"We're already in the helicopter sir!" Wallcroft replied. "SHIT! They've opened fire! Get out! NOW!" Suddenly, the ship shuddered and a deafening explosion blew off right next to the squadron. Water flew from a gaping hole inside of the ship.

"Shit! What the hell happened!" Gaz cried.

"The ship's sinking!" Reel yelled. "We've got to go now!"

"Bravo 6, come in dammit!" Vulture 2-1 called. Soap was sprawled out on the floor, struggling to get back up until Price ran over to him.

"Vulture 2-1, we're coming in hot!" Price yelled. Then to Soap, he yelled. "On your feet, soldier! WE ARE LEAVING!" Soap didn't need to be told twice. Picking up his MP5, he followed the team up the stairs and to the walkways. Immediately, they began to shudder and shake violently.

"It's breaking away!" Gaz cried. Soap tripped over the walkway as it snapped up, flinging him into the doorway. Gaz picked him up by his backpack and moved him along. "Which way, Price? Which way is it to the helicopter?"

"GO RIGHT, GO RIGHT!" He replied. They sprinted around the ship, through corridors as they dodged debris and even people in their desperate escape to get to the other end of the ship.

"Where the hell is it?" Gaz screamed over the torrent of rain and ocean water. Suddenly, a large helicopter flew into view, the back seal hatch opened for them. They jumped on, but Soap slipped and had to catch up.

"Jump for it, Soap!" Wallcroft cried. He made a mighty leap but couldn't hold on. He began to slip over until Price caught his arm.

"Gotcha!" He said triumphantly as he hauled Soap on board. Soap sat on one of the chairs inside, gasping for breath as he handed Price the clipboard. He smiled and walked towards the bridge.

"Vulture 2-1, we have what we came for, now let's get the hell out of here!" Price yelled. The pilot complied, leaving Soap to look outside as the freighter was swept under the waves, forever lost at sea.


	3. Chapter 2: The Coup

"The Coup"

President Al-Fulani

Saudi Arabia

2011

_When had everything gone so wrong?_ President Al-Fulani asked himself. The day had started off fairly normal. He had gotten himself dressed, drove to the capital building, conversed with the people in the main lobby, and went to his office to fill out his paper work. He had already heard of Kaled Al-Asad. Who hadn't? He was exactly what the Americans and Europeans called him: the "Top Dog." But yet he hadn't dared to come to the capital city.

After a few hours of working, he walked out onto the veranda of his office in the palace and looked outside. Occasional gunshots were not abnormal in this part of the glorious world they lived in. The helicopters, however, were. He had never seen so many, and what was stranger was the fact that they were Russian Hinds. He went back to work with a hint of annoyance, knowing that he must get better air service. How was he expected to work with helicopters flying above his office? He slept that night with little distraction.

The next day, he set out to the palace and noticed something else that was new. Civilians were looking behind themselves nervously. Not abnormal, but there were new people there-militia groups by the looks of them, though not remnants of the shattered Al Qaeda. F22s and F18s also flew overhead. The Islamic priests and worshipers no longer roamed the streets. There were new guards in his office, which made him even more weary. Still, nothing happened and he simply slept that night a bit confused. That day, he drove to his office early. He was met by two of his most trusted guards, who frantically tried to lead him away.

Al-Fulani asked them what in the name of Allah they thought they were doing. They looked at each other nervously and told him to come with them. They carried AK74u submachine guns with them. Not abnormal, but the safeties were turned off, and they looked around the palace nervously, as though expecting someone to attack. They led Al-Fulani to his office and told him to gather anything of value. Once again, he asked them what they were doing, but they said they would explain once they got him to safety. "Safety from what?" He demanded. Suddenly, there was a loud bang on the other side of the door and his guards turned around, pointing their guns at it. The door exploded and gunfire filled Al-Fulani's office.

What shocked him beyond belief was the fact that his guards suddenly collapsed on the ground, lying n pools of their own blood. Militia flooded his office, and two of the brutes took Al-Fulani by his arms and threw him against a wall, threatening him with their AK47s. He was then carried outside to the courtyard. A man with a German Shepard stood there, along with several more armed men. The dog eyed him hungrily, making Al-Fulani nervous. A blue car was parked outside of the courtyard. When Al-Fulani refused to get in, the guards forced him inside, smashing the butt-end of an AK47 into his face. He sat up with a groan, met with another militia driving the car, and a strange man in the seat next to the driver. He wore a blue outfit with white stripes on it, something that one of the westerners would probably wear, and carried a miniature Uzi submachine gun. He had a small mustache and thinning hair that ended in a bald spot on the top. He sneered at Al-Fulani and the car jerked forward.

He could hear a man's voice throughout the town. He instantly recognized it as Al-Asad's. He was giving a speech and broadcasting it across the entire city-possibly the entire country. He heard things about Al-Fulani being corrupt, restoring peace, and other things that Al-Fulani knew full well were lies, and yet the people were cheering for him! How could they do that? Civilians and Muslim followers ran down the streets, only to be shot by the militia, falling in bloodied heaps on the ground. He saw civilians-men, women, and even children-being lined up in front of walls and slaughtered by the militia. He felt his gorge rise up, but held back the puke. At the end of the journey, he was brought to the arena. He had given plenty of speeches there. He was dragged out of the car, then kicked square in the face by one of the militia. In his fading vision, he could see the arena full of people-civilians and militia alike, chanting "Ura, Ura, URA!" A dark skinned man with a long beard, dark coat, and-even more surprising-one arm looked him over in disgust. He was tied to a wooden stake in the center of the arena. Al-Asad spoke into a camera that was pointed directly at him.

Al-Asad walked to the strange man who pointed a Desert Eagle pistol at him. He flipped it over, handing Al-Asad the gun. He took it and walked over to the camera. "This," he said to it. "This is how it begins." He could hear Al-Asad, he could hear the chanting of the people, then he could not hear anything more than the panicked beating of his heart. Al-Asad stopped a few feet from Al-Fulani, pointed the gun at his forehead, loaded it, and fired.


	4. Chapter 3: Blackout

"Blackout"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Caucasus Mountains, Russia

2011

_No, it couldn't be. Gaz stood rigid as he stared at the video on the computer screen. His hands clenched the table until his knuckles turned white. But yet it was. The muzzle flash was too real; he could see the blood as clearly as he could see himself in the mirror. Al-Asad had executed Al-Fulani. He had shown the entire world that he did, and now his death was on the hands of the Americans and the British. They were about to rescue Al-Fulani. They had everything planned; the evacuation helicopter was at the rendezvous point. The guards had agreed to drive him there. He then saw the pictures; the two guards they had talked with, bullet holes puncturing their bodies, blood pouring out onto the ground. He had to tell Price._

_ "CAPTAIN PRICE!" Gaz gasped as he sprinted into the control room. Price looked up at him._

_ "Ah, Gaz," he greeted. "Did the Black Ops get Al-Fulani? The Yanks are awfully late on the sitrep I requested."_

_ "Captain Price," he breathed, trying to regain his breath. "Twenty minutes ago, Al-Asad executed President Al-Fulani on national television!" Price's humored smile had vanished an instant. Soap looked up from his seat at the side of the control room._

_ "You're sure?" Price asked him._

_ "Positive, I just saw the video feed," Gaz replied. "The guards were ambushed and killed." Price exhaled, anger pasted clearly on his face. _

"_Well, I guess that's just in then, isn't it?" He asked. "Or is there more horrible news that I must know about? Has America been nuked? The King and Queen of England assassinated?" Gaz shook his head. "Well, the American's already have plans for Al-Asad, and it's too late to do anything for Al-Fulani. In less than three hours, though, we're heading to the Caucus Mountains."_

"_Russia, sir?" Soap asked. "Why are we going there?" Price typed a few keys into his computer and brought up images of a man around Soap's age. _

"_Because, Soap," Price replied. "In less than three hours, code name Nikolai will commence there."_

"_Nikolai, sir?" Gaz asked in confusion._

"_Aye, Nikolai is our informant in the Ultranationalist camp. He's the one who supplied the intel on the cargo ship operation." Gaz nodded. He had heard reference to the informant before, but never met or seen him before. "Nikolai's in hell right now, so we're going in to walk him out. Let's move, the chopper's waiting."_

"We have to move north," Price said. "The loyalists will be waiting for us at the base of the hill a few clicks in that direction."

"Loyalists," Gaz asked. "Eh, are those the good Russians or the bad Russians?" Soap had been wondering the same thing.

"Well they won't shoot you on sight, if that's what you're asking." Price replied with a slight twitch in his mustache. Soap looked slightly alarmed by his response, but he and Gaz hid their own reactions from Price, who didn't seem to notice. That or he didn't care.

"Yeah, well I suppose that's good enough for me, sir," Gaz replied. They began to make their steady trek through the woods towards the base of the mountain. It was steep, but sloped enough so that they didn't have to climb up with any heavy gear. They waded through a small swamp when Price gave the order to get low. A truck drove down the road past them, disappearing from sight. Soap became more amazed every day when Price did things that most would dare to call impossible. Up ahead was a small cabin, a light turned on inside. There were two Russians inside, and for a moment, Soap thought that they were the loyalists, until Price told him to look through the scope on his M21 Sniper Rifle. Embedded onto their uniforms was the symbol of the ultranationalists, which was a rough drawing of a misshapen Russian Spetsnaz insignia.

There was a lone man patrolling the outside of the cabin. He carried a standard issue AK47 with a red dot sight. Upon Price's order, Soap fired his suppressed M21, the bullet going through his head. His body fell soundlessly onto the soft, marshy ground. They stealthily made their way up to the cabin where the two men sat inside. They were watching a British News broadcast talking about Al-Asad and his execution earlier that day. Gaz and Soap stalked in the cabin behind them while Price went around to the other side of the cabin. He banged his M4A1 Carbine on the outer wall of the cabin, drawing the Ultranationalists' attention to from the TV and the two SAS coming up behind them. They pulled out their knives and at the same moment, grabbed the men by their mouths and slit their throats before they could cry out and sound the alarm.

They turned off the TV and walked outside to where Price was waiting for them. "Good job," he said, and then began to walk up the mountain again. The air grew cooler as the night continued on. They had been in the mountains for nearly two hours, and it was only about twenty minutes before the Nikolai operation commenced. They came upon two more cabins that were filled with Ultranationalists. Gaz planted claymores in front of the doors-claymores were portable mines that were activated by a tripwire laser sprouting out of the front corners of the mine. Then, Soap and Price banged on the doors of the cabins, attracting the attention of the men inside. Once they heard the tick of the claymores, though, it was already too late. The bloody pieces and remains of the soldiers lie in heaps on the floors of the cabins, soaked in pools of their own blood.

They moved through the third house outside of the camp and walked into a small clearing in the back of the house. Suddenly, Price held up his fist in a signal to stop, looking around. "Gaz," he said with a hint of a smile. "Do you smell that?"

"Yeah," Gaz replied, taking the hint. "Kamarov." Sergeant Kamarov was the leader of the Loyalist forces that opposed the Ultranationalist soldiers. Out of the trees, a man with a Russian military outfit appeared, raising his AK47 in greeting. He wore a hat with the true Spetsnaz insignia on the side with an eagle below it, showing that he was a Sergeant in rank. Soap guessed that this was Kamarov. Kamarov approached Price and clasped hands with Price.

"It's good to see you, old friend." Price said with a smile. Soap briefly wondered where he had met Kamarov before this mission.

"Likewise," Kamarov replied with a grin. He had a high pitched voice considering his thick Russian accent. "Welcome to the New Russia, Captain Price." He raised his fist and out of the tall grass and weeds, well over fifty Russian soldiers appeared, carrying AK47s and other deadly weapons.

"What's the situation, Kamarov?" Gaz asked him.

"The Ultranationalists have BMPs and heavy artillery. Their guns have killed hundreds of villagers in the valley below, but now that you are here, we can finally take the fight to them." He motioned for his men to continue up the hill and began to follow them when Price grabbed his shoulder.

"Wait!" Price said with a hint of warning in his voice. "Remember Beruit? You're with us now, Kamarov." Soap didn't know about Beruit, but it seemed important to Price and Gaz.

"I guess I owe you one," Kamarov replied, nodding.

"Bloody hell right, you do," Gaz growled. They ran up the hill after Kamarov's men, and Soap heard him giving orders in Russian. As they went up the hill, he noticed that there were well over three hundred soldiers under Kamarov's command up there.

"Come," Kamarov said, pointing to a path on the side of the mountain. "There is a good place where your sniper can cover my men," Soap hefted his M21, knowing that he was up for duty. A gap in the fence boasted a view of the valley, artillery cannons and SAM turrets below firing at the mountains into distant villages. Ultranationalist men swarmed below. "Men, commence the attack!" Kamarov ordered. Then, all hell broke loose. Soap aimed his M21 down the mountain and fired at the ultranationalists below, dropping them like rag dolls, their bodies crumpling to the ground. It was about five minutes when Hinds flew over the area.

"DAMN!" Kamarov swore loudly. "Enemy helicopters!"

"You never said there would be helicopters, Kamarov." Price growled.

"I never said there wouldn't be any either!" He snapped. "Come on, we have to cover my men from those Hinds!"

"What about my informant?" Price demanded. "He's running out of time!"

"Look, the sooner we take the village, the sooner you can get to your informant." He led them through an old, rotting barn. Gaz suggested that they beat the information out of Kamarov, but Price denounced the action. They met the enemy troops on the mountain as they headed to the power station at a small peak. They fought the troops and Soap sniped more of the men below, paving a way for Kamarov's men to advance into the village. When they got to the power station, Kamarov looked out over the area.

"Good, now with just a little more of your sniper support, Captain Price, we can-" He was cut short as Gaz knocked him over, nearly shoving him off of the station and down the one hundred meters to the ground below. Soap gaped at Gaz, but Price looked at it with something of interest.

"NO MORE SNIPING!" Gaz snarled. "NOW WHERE IN BLOODY HELL IS PRICE'S INFORMANT?"

"THE HOUSE!" Kamarov yelped. "He's in the house at the northeast end of the village!"

"Now that wasn't so hard, was it?" Gaz asked. "Now, go sit in the corner!" Price gave the order and they snapped their rappel lines to the railing of the station, and then slid down the mountain. There, they fought through the ultranationalist forces and to the end of the village. They sprinted to the house, Gaz going around the back and Soap and Price standing at the door. They pulled their night vision goggles on just as Gaz cut the power circuits in the back. They shot the soldiers inside and made their way up to the top floor. There, in one of the back rooms, lay Nikolai. He was beaten very badly, purple and black bruises all over his body. He tried to resist the help of Price and Soap at first, until he realized who they were.

"Nikolai," Gaz said with worry in his voice. "Are you all right? Can you walk?"

"Da," Nikolai replied. "I can still fight, as well. Thank you for getting me out of here!" He said.

"Don't mention it," Price said, handing Nikolai an AK47 he had picked up from one of the soldiers in the house. They took off their night vision goggles and ran outside. A few hundred meters away, a helicopter landed in the yard outside of the house. Soap recognized it as Hammer 2-1, and climbed inside with Price, Nikolai, and Gaz.

"Captain Price," Nikolai said. "Have the Americans attacked Al-Asad?"

"No, their invasion begins in a few hours. Why?"

"They are making a big mistake," he said, shaking his head sorrowfully. "They will never take Al-Asad alive." They looked at him confusedly. What did Nikolai mean?


	5. Chapter 4: Charlie Don't Surf

"Charlie Don't Surf"

Sergeant Paul Jackson

Saudi Arabia, Port near the Red Sea

2011

_The USMC had been stationed in the Red Sea ten miles off of the coast of Saudi Arabia. It was quite boring for the marines, especially for Sergeant Paul Jackson. He had spent most of his time working out and running the perimeter of the aircraft carrier Victorious, trying to stay in shape. That and to keep his overall sanity. First of all, it's hard enough to be in the United States military. It's even harder to be a marine, but Jackson had succeeded in his training and became a private in the ranks of the USMC._

_ They don't lie when it's said that the marines are always sent in first. His previous USMC detachment took on nearly twenty missions in three months, whereas the army simply kicked back and waited for them to get the job done so they could set up camp and kick back some more. Who cared if they were in the military? They had no idea how easy they had it compared to what the marines had. In Jackson's first mission, he and his detachment had been sent to Afghanistan to clear out the Al Qaeda forces n an isolated village. _

_ That was the first day he had ever shot and an actual person. No training can prepare you for the first time you shoot at something other than a wooded target. It was hard for him at first to be live with himself after killing people, but after the first mission, it got easier, especially if they were shooting at him and his squad mates. His last mission nearly got himself sent home-in a casket. He and his squadron were pinned down. _

_ He and everyone else was a simple Private in rank, none of them with any leading experience whatsoever. Their sergeant was KIA-Killed In Action-and they were steadily getting advanced upon by the enemy. Had it not been for Jackson's quick thinking, he and the rest of his surviving friends in his squadron would have been killed. Hence why he was promoted to Sergeant and reassigned under the leadership of Lieutenant Vasguez, the acting leader of Second USMC Regiment. Right when he was reassigned, he was sent to the fleet in the Red Sea. They had been there for nearly two months, and Jackson was beginning to become paranoid. Cooped up on an aircraft carrier for that long didn't exactly boost your morale._

_ Today though, an alarm sounded. Three klaxons-that meant to gear up and get to the helicopters. He immediately sprinted to his quarters in the barracks and got into his UMSC uniform, strapping on the bulletproof vest and tightening the straps around his helmet. He slung his M4A1 to his back and ran to the upper deck, where the marines were now gathering. The helicopters propellers were spinning up, pilots getting ready for takeoff. Vasguez stood in front of them, addressing his men._

_ "MARINES!" He yelled. They all stood straight and raised their hands to their foreheads in salute and yelled, "Sir, Yes Sir!" He motioned for them to lower their hands. "Intel just got a positive fix on Al-Asad! He's in a building at the east side of the town near the ports. We're going to go in and extract him, Hoorah?"  
>"HOORAH!" They yelled in unison. 'Hoorah' was their battle call that they all answered to. <em>

_ "All right marines, get to your choppers! Lock and load!"_

The helicopter fleet in full formation was quite a sight to behold; Jackson had never seen so many of them at once, and was awestruck by it. He could just imagine what the enemies must be thinking when they saw them! One of the men next to him, a young private named Sam, turned to him. "This is where the fun begins, eh?" He said with a grin.

"I guess so," Jackson replied, grinning as well. It was good to finally get off that aircraft carrier. He motioned to the kid's M4A1. "You ready to use that weapon, rook?"

"Yes, sir!" He replied.

"Good," Jackson said. "Just check your fire, hoorah?" He saluted him with a smile. Suddenly, a missile flew by, hitting a helicopter. A small explosion followed, but luckily, it was only a glancing blow, only knocking the helicopter a bit off course.

"WHOA!" The pilot yelled. They could hear it on the radio transmission signal. "We got RPG fire from the ports!"

"Copy that Dagger 9," one of the other pilots replied. "Taking evasive action! All helicopter pilots break off and meet at the rendezvous point at the southwest end of the town!" The helicopters flew over the city below, militia firing RPGs and AK47s at the helicopters. None of the shots hit the fast-moving helicopters, but some did get very close. It was unnerving for people like the marines who were completely exposed to the gunfire.

They flew to an open part of the town and then hovered seventy feet above the ground, dropping ropes to the ground. "GO, GO, GO!" The pilot yelled. The marines swung down from the helicopters and took out their weapons, rushing down the street. Jackson and Sam followed Lieutenant Vasguez and several other marines to a building off of the main road.

"All right, stack up!" Vasguez said. Sam stood behind Vasguez and Jackson stood across from him on either side of the back door. Sam took out a frame charge and locked it onto the doorknob. "Do it!" Vasguez ordered. Sam pulled the trigger on the detonator and the door blew inside. They whipped inside and shot several of the militia inside. Jackson took point and led the way down the stairs into an armory. They shot the militia inside and went into a side room. Sam threw a flashbang inside, blinding the militia so Jackson and Vasguez could finish them off.

As they fought through the building, Vasguez ordered all of the squads to check the bodies for Al-Asad. None of the squads found them, despite the multiple buildings they searched. Vasguez stood outside fuming while Jackson and Sam scouted the area for hostile forces nearby. "Command," Vasguez said. "We haven't found Al-Asad in the target building. What's going on, over?" There was a short discussion before Vasguez said, "Roger that, sir. Marines, listen up!" He said to both his squad and everyone else in the city. "Al-Asad is supposedly broadcasting in the TV station near the center of town! Meet at the back parking lot for a breach! Come on!" He said, motioning for them all to follow him.

They ran through the cluttered buildings and back to the main road. Immediately, one of the cars on the road was hit by and RPG, erupting in a violent explosion. One of the marines taking cover next to it was crushed as it flew into a building. "Get off the street!" Jackson yelled frantically. "Fight your away around! Take the alleys!" The marines complied, sprinting off of the streets. As they rounded a corner, one marine was hit in the face with the butt of a militant's AK47. Just as he was about to turn the gun on him and fire, Sam tackled him and shoved his knife through the militant's chest. His body jerked then he died. Sam wrenched the knife from his chest and slid it back into his sheathe.

"Move, Sam!" Jackson yelled. A barrage of gunfire smashed into the ground where Sam had been standing, but he managed to scramble away and find cover behind a dumpster just in time. Vasguez took a small, spherical object from his belt, pulled the pin, and yelled, "FRAG OUT!" He briefly stood out in the open to throw the grenade before taking cover. Jackson could hear panicked voices but by that point, it was too late. The explosion went off and he heard cries of pain. They marines sprinted from their cover and rand to the central courtyard just as more of the militants rushed into the area. They exchanged brief firefights with them before clearing the area and heading back to the main road.

As they came up on the highway through the center of town, three large trucks sped into the area, mounted turrets spinning up and firing into the ranks of the USMC. Seven of the marines were killed as they sprinted for cover. "Johnson, do you have that grenade launcher?" Vasguez called. Johnson, a large man with a rocket launcher strapped to his back and a under slung grenade launcher attached to his gun nodded. He loaded up a grenade and fired at the trucks. One of them hit a truck, the engine exploding and sending it flying right on top of another one. He loaded another grenade and hit the ground beneath the third truck, causing it to crash right into a building. The building couldn't take the stress and collapsed, killing the militants inside the vehicle.

The marines rushed across the highway and fought their way through the streets, eventually regrouping with the other squadrons at the back of the TV station. Once again, Sam blew the frame charge and the stormed inside. They fought their way through the halls until they got to the broadcasting room. As they entered, Jackson ran into a dark skinned man holding an M4A1, and immediately turned his gun on him.

"Wait, hold your fire!" He yelled. Jackson looked down and noticed that he was wearing a USMC uniform.

"Sorry about that," Jackson replied. "Who are you anyway?"

"Name's Griggs," he replied. "Staff Sergeant Griggs." Jackson paled; he had just assaulted a commanding officer. Luckily, though, Griggs didn't seem to mind, and joined their team. Vasguez walked up to him.

"Griggs, where's your squad?" Vasguez demanded.

"Dead sir," Griggs replied. Everyone winced at this. A whole squad, _dead_? "Armored vehicles ambushed us a few streets down. I was the only survivor." Vasguez nodded and told him to join up with their team. They walked through the broadcasting station, finding no one. They came across the main office broadcasting room where video and audio editing was done, and Sam cautiously walked in. He turned around with a smile.

"Guys, there's no one-" Suddenly, a bullet flew into the back of his head, shredding through his skull and coming out of the front, blood spurting from a hole in his forehead.

"SAM!" Jackson yelled. Sam collapsed on the ground as the marines took cover behind the cubicles and desks in the room. Jackson tried to aid Sam, but it was too late. The bullet killed him instantly. Overcome by rage, Jackson raised his M4A1 and fired at the man who killed him, a militant on the second floor. He fired three bullets into his stomach; he didn't deserve the mercy of dying quickly. Bullets and RPG fire turned the room into chaos. Monitors and TVs exploded, bullets shredded through the walls and cubicles, and all around Jackson, marines were dying.

In a few minutes, it was over as quickly as it began. Two more marines were killed by gunfire, one wounded, luckily though, the wound was not grievous, and a medic was attending to his ailment immediately. Jackson returned to Sam's body, lying in a puddle of blood. He closed the eyes of his friend and yanked his dog tags from his neck, wrapping them around his wrist. They moved on, meeting up with other breach teams around the station. They witnessed the military driving through with their tanks and Humvees, and even noticed that the United States Air Force had arrived. The men cheered, but Jackson only did so half-heartedly, knowing that Sam should be there too. The kid never got the chance to see the flyboys come in.

As they rounded the last corner, Jackson could hear Al-Asad's voice behind the door. He gripped his gun tightly. He was going to make that son of a bitch pay for what he'd done. Griggs nodded at him; he knew about what happened to Sam. He kicked open the door and Jackson swung in, wanting to take the first shot at that evil man. Instead, he found nothing. The room was full of TVs and computer monitors, but no Al-Asad. Vasguez was fuming.

"Command, what's going on here?" He snarled into the radio. "Al-Asad isn't here. How many times is your Intel going to be off, huh?" _Al-Asad wasn't there_. Jackson's mind was blank with rage. Al-Asad wasn't there, which meant that Sam could have still been alive had they just bombed the station. He swore and shot at the large TV that portrayed Al-Asad. "Griggs, turn that damn recording off." Vasguez ordered.

"Roger that, sir," Griggs replied. "I got something better anyway." He switched stations and came across an American rap song. "Yeah, Hoorah, baby." He said with a smile. Vasguez clicked off his radio.

"All right, marines, rally up," Vasguez said. They all formed up to listen to what he had to say. "We've got a new order from command. We're going deeper into the town. Get your weapons ready, we're moving out." Jackson nodded, eagerly anticipating the battle to come. He had never been so eager to find Al-Asad in his life.


	6. Chapter 5: The Bog

"The Bog"

Sergeant Paul Jackson

Saudi Arabia, Capital City

2011

"_After heavy fighting today, the United States Marines have pushed into the Capital City of Saudi Arabia where the terrorist leader Al-Asad is currently making his last stand," The British newscaster reported. "Fire and smoke now plunder the night as they try to locate Al-Asad."_

_ "Marines!" Vasguez called into the radio. "Listen up! We have a new mission directive from command. Overlord, this is Lieutenant Vasguez, what are your orders, sir?"_

_ "Lieutenant Vasguez," Overlord replied. "We have an Abrams tank dead in the water somewhere deep in the bog at the other side of this town. We need your team to link up with the SEAL team there and help them out, over."_

_ "Roger that, Overlord," he replied. "Alright, men, we're moving out!"_

"The SEAL's transponder signal is broadcasting two clicks south of here," Vasguez announced. "We're moving out, come on!" They ran down the highway as Jackson looked around the area. The city was outlined in red as the fire and smoke sent sparks and flame into the air. The moon nor one single star was visible behind the thick smoke above. Almost as soon as they came across the first building, militants popped out and opened fire on them.

They took cover behind the destroyed cars, while Jackson and some of the other marines sprinted down the stairs off of the highway. They got to the building and brought down their night vision goggles. Jackson turned on the laser sight attached to the side of his gun and whipped around the doorway. The laser targeted two militants that opened fire immediately. They were armed with AK74us, which-in some cases-were even more dangerous than AK47s due to their increased ROF, or 'rate of fire'.

They took cover behind the ruins of walls and exchanged fire with the militants until they were able to push farther into the building. Vasguez and more of the marines moved up, but only a few of the marines made it through the defenses, leaving Vasguez and the rest of the marines taking cover behind the short walls that were slowly crumbling from bullet and rocket fire. Jackson called to one of the soldiers, Allen Roycewicz, and they ran up the stairs. Jackson was suddenly punched and flew into the wall. He stood up to find a militant trying to stab Roycewicz. Jackson groped in the darkness for his gun; the night vision goggles hardly helped to find a gun, but eventually, he found the light from the laser and picked it up, firing a shot into the militants head.

"Taking your time, Sarge?" Roycewicz asked angrily.

"Just be thankful I saved your ass this time," Jackson said with a growl. "You're going to have to do it yourself the next." They stalked up the stairs and found ten militants there, firing at the street where Vasguez and the other marines hid in cover. They slotted the militants and fought their way to the ledge. A machine gun emplacement was attached to the wall, another right next to it. Jackson took one of them and pointed to the other one. "Private, man that gun and take out the men on the lower floor while I get the second!" Roycewicz nodded and manned the gun. Together, they cut down the militants with ease, paving a way for Vasguez and his men to enter the building.

"Good work, Jackson!" Vasguez yelled. "Regroup down here; we're not out of the fight yet!" _You don't need to tell me twice._ Jackson thought. They rounded the corner and were met with gunfire shattering the glass windows. Griggs was crouched under one of the frames. When he saw Vasguez, a look of relief came over him, but only briefly.

"Sir, there's a ton of them out there!" Griggs shouted.

"Hang on, Griggs!" Vasguez shouted. "Jackson, follow me! We're going to take the fight to them!"

"Yes, sir!" Jackson replied. They crawled across the floor and to the other doorway at the other end of the building. Vasguez tossed a flashbang into the next building and they sprinted inside. After clearing it, they fired into the enemies below. Suddenly, they felt a rumbling in the ground. They looked in horror as three Panzers treaded up the interchange ahead. One of the tank's cannons turned and fired, blowing the wall that the marines hid in to pieces. The marines scrambled to cover as it began to fire again. Vasguez fumbled for his radio.

"Johnson! Take out those tanks with the Javelin!" He yelled.

"Yes sir!" Johnson replied. "Just a-AARGH!" Jackson looked down as a stray bullet shot Johnson in the chest. He knew what he had to do. He leaped out of the window and took the Javelin. Vasguez ordered him to come back to the building, but he ignored him. He took aim, locked on to the tanks with the massive rocket launcher, and fired. The missile flew high into the air and plummeted down, hitting the highway. It crumbled from the inexplicably large explosion, and the tanks and militants crashed to the ground many meters below.

The marines cheered, and even Vasguez looked impressed, but it was short-lived. They still had to find the SEALs. They cut a hole through a gate into the marketplace when a red flare shot into the air, illuminating the entire area. "USMC detach, this is Abrams team three, where the hell are you?" One of the SEALs screamed into the radio.

"We're almost there, hold on!" Vasguez responded. They sprinted through the marketplace and came to the bog. A lone tank sat in the center of the bog, several SEALs firing at wave after wave of militants.

"Great, you're here!" One of the SEALs said. "We need you guys to hold these men off for us!"

"Where's our air support?" Vasguez asked.

"There's an anti-aircraft battery in the center of town!" The SEAL replied. "They can't come until we've taken it out!" Jackson had heard the whole thing and sprinted over to them.

"Vasguez," he called over the gunfire. "I'll take a team over there and knock out that battery!" He nodded and told three other marines to follow Jackson. They sprinted through the gunfire and into an abandoned restaurant. They cut down the militants in their way and fought across the street to the next building, another restaurant. They walked around back and found a man firing the anti-aircraft gun. Jackson stalked up behind him and prodded his shoulder. He turned around to see Jackson fire his M4A1 into his chest.

They planted C4 explosives on the anti-aircraft gun, got to a safe distance, and blew the gun-and the building next to it-to oblivion. By that point, the marines and SEALs had fought their way over to them and were now firing at a heavily guarded building. The gunfire inside was too much for them to take, but then, a missile flew into view and obliterated the side of the building. The marines and SEALs looked up to see two attack helicopters hovering above them, firing steadily into the building until it was nothing more than rubble and ashes. The men cheered as Jackson heard the two pilots talking.

"Hey, Dagger One, you see anyone down there?" One of them asked.

"Negative, Dagger Two; we got 'em." The other replied.

"All right, boys," Dagger One said. "You go have your fun; just try to stay out of too much trouble." They flew away as the marines cheered. The SEALs looked happy, but were more withdrawn from the group. They walked back to the Abrams and found Vasguez talking to two of the SEALs. As they approached, he presented them with a rough sketch of the area.

"All right, men," Vasguez said. "We'll set up positions in the bog here, here, and here," he said, pointing to different locations of X's on the map. "Everyone get sorted out, they'll be upon us in a few hours. That'll give us enough time to get this scrap pile moving. Everyone get their weapons loaded, we're getting ready ASAP. Hoorah?" The marines returned the call, and even the SEALs joined in. Jackson reloaded his M4A1 and walked over to one of the buildings where he would set up a position. He lied down against the wall, propping his gun next to him. He shut his eyes. He would need the sleep. After all, tomorrow would be a very busy day.


	7. Chapter 6: Hunted

"Hunted"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Western Russia

2011

"_Baseplate, this is Gaz," he yelled into the radio. "We're taking Nikolai to the safe house in Hamburg, over!"_

_ "Copy that Bravo 6," Baseplate answered. 'Baseplate' was the British Commander in charge of the SAS while they were on the eastern side of the planet near Europe. "Keep us up to date, out."_

_ "Will do sir; Bravo 6 out." Gaz shut off the radio and turned to Captain Price. He and Nikolai were sitting across from Gaz and Soap in the helicopter known as Hammer 2-1. They were heading for Hamburg, a city in Northern Germany. There was a safe house there that they could get Nikolai to so he could get refreshed and finally tell them what he meant. Soap was still trying to figure out what Nikolai meant by 'they will never take him alive.' It didn't make sense; the USMC was supposedly as good as they come, the best of the United States Military Service. He had even asked Gaz about while Nikolai dozed off._

_ "What do you think he means by that?" Soap had asked him. Gaz simply shrugged._

_ "Knowing Nikolai-any Russian, for that matter-he's not going to tell us immediately," he replied. "Russians are notorious for not telling you what you want to know right off the bat."_

_ "If it's so important, though," Soap persisted. "Shouldn't he tell us now?" Gaz sighed._

_ "Soap, you're going to have to figure out one of these days that information just doesn't come to you on a silver platter whenever you want it," Gaz said. He continued before Soap could say anything else. "Look, we'll get this all sorted out with Nikolai when we get back to Hamburg, alright?" He stopped talking to him then, and they had waited until Baseplate had called. They were all awake now, only about two hundred miles from Germany. Suddenly, they heard an explosion. Price stirred._

_ "What the bloody hell was that?" He asked. Suddenly, the pilot screamed._

_ "Anti-air! Anti-air! Brace for impact!" The pilot screamed. Suddenly, the helicopter lurched as a missile struck the side of it. A red light flashed inside, and then another missile impacted on the chopper. They spun out of control, and they saw the ground rushing up to them. Soap was thrown free of the helicopter and then everything went black._

There was an orange light at the edge of his vision. Everything went black again. Oblivion faded into reality, and he saw the light again, as well as four figures emerge from the light. He faded again, only to feel himself being shaken awake. He looked up into the face of Captain Price. "Come on, Soap, talk to me! Can you hear me?" Soap groaned and tried sitting up again. Price grabbed his hand and pulled him back up. "Come on, Soap, you're alright. Come on, we can't stay here." An explosion of intense red flame protruded from the side of the light, which Soap recognized as the crashed helicopter. They walked over to Gaz, Nikolai, and one of the other survivors, a kid named Trevor.

"Johnson and both of the pilots are dead, sir," Gaz reported.

"Bugger," Price growled. "What about our arms? Any weapons still intact?" Gaz picked up a G36C and an M9 pistol and handed them to Soap.

"You'll need these, Soap," Gaz said. He nodded his thanks and took them, holstering the pistol and taking the G36C. Price took an M4A1 from the ground and loaded it. He looked at everyone and said, "Let's move." They walked down the hill, Trevor scouting ahead.

"Bravo 6, this is Baseplate," a familiar voice came over the radio transmission. "You will have AC130 air support in fifteen minutes, over."

"Copy that Baseplate," Price replied. "Out."

"An AC130, eh?" Gaz asked. "I haven't worked with one of those in a while."

"A while?" Soap asked. "When was the first time?"

"Way back in Beruit with Price and Kamarov, we had AC130 support," Gaz said, looking up wistfully. "That mission brings back a lot of memories."

"You'll have to tell me about Beruit sometime," Soap said. "I've heard of it from both of you and still don't know what it is." He smiled and nodded; Soap was quite eager to find out what Beruit was all about. Suddenly, a roaring sound came from down the road, and they hid under it in a tunnel. A particularly large convoy was passing through the area. Five men against however many were in that convoy was hardly a fair match.

As soon as they were sure the convoy was gone, they moved up a small hill to a farm. They heard voices in Russian from the other side of the barn and slowly walked inside. They peered out of the windows to see five Ultranationalist rebels outside, one of them talking to an old, fat Russian farmer. After a few minutes of angered shouting from the man talking to the farmer, Price decided to act.

"Let's stop slot these guys before they kill the old man," They raised their guns and shot through the windows, cutting down the Ultranationalists. The old farmer ran as fast as his small legs would take him, slamming the door to his house shut.

"You'd think he'd at least give us a simple 'thanks.'" Gaz muttered. Price shrugged and they ventured on into the unknown territory. About a half mile down the corn field, the stalks thinned and then stopped and they made their way into an empty section of it. Suddenly, a Hind appeared and flashed on a spotlight. They all immediately dropped to the ground, lying as flat as possible. The light passed up and down the field, even running over the lower half of Gaz's torso, but they didn't notice the five SAS on the ground.

They sprinted to the other barn and took up positions around it while Gaz tried to pull open the cellar door. That's when they heard the gunfire, and they looked to see that across the field, nearly twenty soldiers rushed to their position. They took cover behind a tractor and shot at them, trying to prevent them from getting any closer.

"Gaz, open that damn door!" Price ordered.

"Bullocks, it won't budge!" He took out his M4A1 and shot the hinges, kicking the cellar doors in. "Come on, get in!" They walked back, still firing at the soldiers before they came inside.

"Soap, take point!" Price ordered. He rushed up the stairs, bullets flying through the windows a hair's breadth from his face." Suddenly, a small canister bounced into the room.

"Flash-" that's when the canister ignited. Soap was suddenly blinded by a flash of bright light, his ears deafened from a high-pitched whining sound. He cringed, falling to the ground and clutching his ears. He could feel warm liquid against his palms, telling him that his ears were beginning to bleed. He suddenly felt a sharp kick to his side, causing him to tumble over. He opened his eyes and saw a blurry man pointing the muzzle of an AK47 into his face. He was screaming at him but Soap could not hear him, only see his lips moving in a foreign language. At least, he thought that was his lips; he was still seeing everything in a blur.

Suddenly, a man wearing a baseball cap smashed the Russian's face with his gun, and then shot him on the ground. Soap's vision and hearing came back and he realized it was Gaz. He was yelling at him. "SOAP! SOAP! CAN-YOU-HEAR-ME!"

"Dammit, Gaz," Soap said, sitting up. "Don't be so loud! It hurts!"

"S-sorry mate," Gaz apologized. He took a pair of earmuffs from his backpack and handed them to Soap. "Here, there's still plenty of gunfire you're going to hear." He took them, appreciated, and put them over his ears. Price, Nikolai, and Trevor ran in the room.

"Gaz, what's going on?" Price asked.

"Soap's been hit by a flashbang," he explained. "I ran in here and slot that guy just before he got a shot at Soap." Price nodded and looked at Soap.

"Are you all right, son?" Price asked him. Soap nodded.

"I can still fight, if that's what you mean." Soap replied. Nikolai smiled when he heard that.

"All right, then," Price said. "Let's get going then." They walked cautiously out of the house. There wasn't a single soldier in sight.

"It's too quiet," Gaz asked. "Where did they all go?"

"They must have fallen back to the village, let's keep moving!" Price said. As soon as they rounded a building, a German Shepard jumped and attacked Soap. He brought up his G36C and unloaded half of a magazine into the dog's stomach.

"What the bloody hell is wrong with that dog?" Soap asked breathlessly.

"It must have been trained," Price said. "Let's keep moving, and watch out for more soldiers and their dogs." They did so, but found no one. They crossed another field, stealthily getting around the enemy troops there until they had reached a row of greenhouses. They stalked inside and around a wrecked market. They walked inside of a barn and stayed in there for a while until the soldiers left in their vehicles.

Suddenly, a missile blew apart one of the walls of the barn, and they saw that the Hind had returned. Gaz found a stinger missile left behind by the soldiers, turned, and fired at the Hind, but it dodged, sparking flares.

"Shit! It's sparking flares! Find more stingers, fast!" Gaz cried. He found another and Soap found a third. They fired at the same time. It sparked flares again, but Soap's missile it from the other side. The Hind flew out of control and smashed into the greenhouses, exploding in an immense mushroom cloud of flame.

"Good work, men," Price said. "Let's go." He opened the back door of the barn and they ran to the end. That's when they found the convoy. Nearly one hundred soldiers stood there, along with two armored vehicles and a tank. "Baseplate, this is Bravo 6; is that AC130 in our airspace yet?"

"Affirmative, Bravo 6," Baseplate replied. "They're OPCON and waiting for your orders, over."

"AC130 gunship, this is Bravo 6," Price said, switching channels. "Requesting for fire mission danger close, over!" The AC130 gunner complied and suddenly, a massive missile flew from the sky and smashed into the center of the convoy. Flames, vehicles, and soldiers flew everywhere. Several smaller missiles flew from the sky and imploded more of the convoy until there was nothing left but ash and flame.

"Yeah, that's bloody outrageous mate!" Gaz cried out, laughing. Soap couldn't help but suppress a grin as well. After all, that was actually very amazing to see an AC130 in action.

"We still got a long way to go, mates," Price spoke up. "Let's go." Soap knew he should have felt solemn, but he knew that from here on in, their extraction would be far easier.


	8. Chapter 7: Death from Above

"Death from Above"

AC130 Gunner

Western Russia

2011

"_AC130 Gunship," A British man called to them; the gunner presumed that this was Captain Price of the SAS. "I'm requesting a fire-mission, danger close, over!" It was awfully dangerous for a mission like that, but he complied, turning around to look at the man behind him. _

_ "Which ones are the friendlies?" He asked the man. He clicked a few buttons on the console and highlighted five blips on the screen. He made them flash brightly on the screen periodically. He nodded and looked back at the screen. The five blips flashed about twenty meters away from a particularly large convoy of enemy targets, which he figured were the Ultranationalist rebels. He switched to the main cannon, painted the target, and fired. A massive explosion showed up on the screen, but he switched to the secondary cannons and fired several shots around the area, causing more, smaller explosions._

_ All that remained was a massive, smoldering wreckage in place of the convoy. "Yeah, that was bloody outrageous mate!" One of the other SAS cried from the ground the gunner smiled and high-fived the man behind him._

_ "All right, let's move," Captain Price said. "We've still got a long way to go."_

"AC130 Gunship, do you copy?" Captain Price called into the radio.

"Roger that, Bravo 6," the gunner replied into his headset. "What do you need?"

"We're taking fire from the village to the northwest of our position," he responded. "Can you provide us with close air support, over?"

"Copy that, Bravo 6," he said. "I'm firing now, so keep your heads down!" He looked at the village and saw what seemed to be at least fifty bogeys. "Whoa," he breathed. The main cannon still needed to be reloaded, so he switched back to the secondary cannon, firing at the large groups of enemies. Five shots later, he ran out of ammunition and switched to the machine gun, allowing the crews on the lower deck to reload the cannons. The machine guns tore through the ranks of enemy troops and shredded the ground around them.

Bravo 6 moved up to a church when suddenly an RPG missile smashed through the windows, impacting dangerously close to the small SAS squadron. "AC130 Gunship, we're taking fire from the church to the east!"

"Roger that Bravo 6," the man behind the gunner said. "Gunnery support is currently offline, so try to avoid the church for a few minutes, copy?"

"Roger that Gunship," Captain Price replied. "Just hurry up!" The gunner switched radio links to the men on the lower deck of the AC130.

"Hey, are you guys done down there?" He asked.

"Yes sir!" One of the engineers replied. "The guns are ready!"

"Bravo 6, the we have fire clearance on the church," the gunner said. "I'm firing the cannons now!" He fired the main cannon, striking the church. The building exploded in a massive mushroom cloud of smoke and flame, pieces of wood and glass flying in all directions.

"Hot damn!" the man behind the gunner said. They high fived and then returned to their work of clearing the village for Bravo 6. Two trucks suddenly appeared on the road.

"Hey, are those civilian vehicles or bogeys?" The gunner asked.

"Just wait a moment," he said, switching channels. "Bravo 6, do you have a positive ID on the trucks on the main road?"

"Just a moment, Gunship," Price replied. The small blips ran to the road, pointing their guns at the cars. The cars pulled over and more blips walked out, holding their hands in the air. There was a small conversation that went on, and then the new blips ran away. "Gunship, this is Bravo 6; we have secured two civilian vehicles and are continuing to the rendezvous point in them, over."

"Roger that, Bravo 6," the gunner said. "Follow the main road until you get to the water tower. Follow the road on the right side of the tower and you'll come up on the rendezvous."

"Copy that, Gunship, we're on our way." They followed his instructions, occasionally taking fire from soldiers on the roofs of scattered buildings in the forest, but the AC130 Gunship cut them down almost instantly. The rendezvous point, a large car depot, was crawling with enemy troops. The gunship had a far easier time however, to cut them down; the cars were the cover for the Ultranationalists. The cannons made the cars explode in a fashion as though they were dominos, killing the soldiers quickly. Two Chinook helicopters flew into the area, picking up the five SAS. One of them was limping, getting support from his friends.

"Gaz has taken some fire, but he'll be alright," Captain Price said to the gunner. "Thanks for your support Gunship," he said, then climbed aboard the Chinook.

"Alright, guys," the gunner said. "Mission accomplished, well done!"

**Author's Note: Sorry for the short chapter guys, but this mission wasn't very long and I was thinking of taking it out of the story, but instead I just decided to make it a bit short but still able to work with. All of the CoD games I own have at least one short mission, so expect this to be something that occurs with each story. **


	9. Chapter 8: War Pig

**Sorry it's taken so long guys, I've had to relive the Call of Duty Modern Warfare storyline, and I'm also working on remembering the story for MW2 and MW3 for my next stories after this one, but I'm back now and I hope you all enjoy the last to chapters of the first act of Modern Warfare!**

"War Pig"

Sergeant Paul Jackson

Saudi Arabia, the Bog

2011

"_Sporadic fighting could be seen from satellite images above Saudi Arabia today," the British news reporter said. "The USMC is continuing to push forward to the Capital City on the west side of the country to where they believe Al-Asad is in hiding. We will continue to keep the all citizens of the UN posted until this war has reached its climax."_

_ "Commanded, this is Lieutenant Vasguez," he called in. "We have War Pig fully operational and we're pushing forward to the extraction point at the end of the city, out."_

"_RPG_! LOOK OUT!" An explosion flew right before Jackson's eyes. Shrapnel and debris flew everywhere. Bullets flew to and fro, Jackson trying in vain to pick out targets from across the bog. Two Hinds flew into the area dropping off troops, but he didn't have the slightest idea where the militia would have gotten their hands on Russian Hinds.

He didn't need to worry about that now; for now, he had to focus on the fight at hand. Making a quite daring move, he sprinted across the bog and slid into a mound of dirt and refuse. He unhinged a flashbang from his utility belt and threw it into the mass of militia troops behind the mound. He whipped around and shot the blinded militia, then moved up to a bus nearby. The USMC and SEALs moved up behind him and shot at the incoming soldiers. Once the area was clear, War Pig began to move forward.

The massive tank blew through the gate leading into the main town, and pushed forward. Instantly, it began to take fire from all directions. The soldiers rushed in behind it. Jackson took cover behind a stone wall, reloading his M4A1. Vasguez formed up next to him.

"We have to take these buildings or War Pig will never get through!" He yelled over the torrent of gunfire.

"I'll take care of the right side; you guys take care of the left market!" Jackson yelled back. Vasguez nodded and hailed to the troops. Jackson sprinted up to a pillar and signaled to War Pig. "War Pig, this is Sergeant Paul Jackson! I need an opening to this building!"

"Roger that, Sergeant!" The gunner called into the radio. "Keep your head down!" He ducked in cover as the massive cannon turned and fired into the wall. Fire and rock rained around him. Through the falling dust, he could see the opening in the wall of the building.

"Thanks, War Pig!" Jackson called and ran into the building one of the militia lied on the ground, his right leg and arm missing and blood pouring from his body onto the ground. Jackson fired a bullet into his head and stalked up the stairs. He shot off the hinges of a door and threw a flashbang inside. When he heard the miniature explosion, he walked inside. Three militants were lying on the ground, covering their ears and screaming in pain. Jackson killed them all and ran to the balcony. He took a pistol from his side and fired a red flare into the air, signaling to everyone else that the right side of the street was clear. He turned as he saw more militia running down the main road.

Jackson reloaded is M4A1 and jumped onto the balcony of the next building and pursued the fleeing militants. Suddenly, an explosion went off under the building and Jackson heard a large crack and the building began to topple over. He jumped down and onto the street before the stone building crashed into the ground, dust and rock flying to and fro.

"Jackson, are you alright?" Vasguez asked, grabbing his arm. "Are you okay?"

"Yeah, yeah I'm alright," he replied, coughing. The rest of the USMC ran forward, trading fire with the militants. AK47 fire blew chunks of stone and wood off of the objects that the marines were using as cover. RPG rockets began flew across the street, blowing shops, cars, people, and debris to pieces.

"Come on!" Vasguez called, rallying the marines. "Down the alley! We can flank them around the building!" _Luckily they can't understand English_. Jackson thought. They did as Vasguez told them and sprinted down the alley to a parking lot. There were about twenty cars in the lot, providing cover for the marines if need be. Fortunately, there were no militants nearby. That is, until an RPG flew into a car. It exploded in a blinding flash, the car flying up in the air and crushing one of the marines.

"TAKE COVER!" Jackson screamed. Gunfire flew around the area, more RPGs blowing cars into oblivion, frag grenades thrown from windows. Vasguez hid behind a dumpster, putting his hand on its smooth edge. He looked at it and noticed it was not full yet.

"Jackson, get over here!" He yelled. "Help me move this!" They strapped their guns to their backs and shoved the dumpster with their shoulders. It was slow, tedious work to move the dumpster, but they made steady progress to the building at the other side of the lot. Suddenly, a missile flew in the air and smashed into the building, fire and blood flying in all directions. Militants screamed inside for a few moments, and then all went silent. A Cobra helicopter flew overhead.

"Thought you boys could use some aerial firepower!" The pilot called down. Vasguez smiled.

"Always do!" He replied. They moved inside the building to see that the militants were all dead. That's when they heard-and felt-a rumbling in the stone floors. At first, they assumed that it was War Pig, but when they looked down the street, they noticed a Russian tank rolling down the streets. Once again, Jackson wondered where the Russian technology had come from and why the militants were using them. _What's going on here?_ He wondered. They looked at the tank in horror. There was no time to run-one round from the cannon would annihilate the entire building before anyone could get out.

The cannon slowly turned around and aimed upward to their floor. Then, a ball of fire erupted in the place of the tank. The cannon flew into the air and crashed into the wall of a building. A few of the militants scrambled to get out, but then there was another loud boom and the tank exploded, armor plating flying in all directions as the tank was destroyed. Vasguez looked up in wonder and noticed War Pig rolling down the streets. The other marines noticed it too and cheered.

"Yeah!" One yelled.

"Oh, yeah, baby," yelled another. "That's what I'm talking about!"

"Holy shit, did you see that?"

"We're happy to help, boys," one of the SEALs said into the radio. Then with a chuckle he asked, "So, uh, are we there yet, Lieutenant?"

"Almost," he said with a grin. Then he switched the radio and said, "Overlord, do we have our evac yet?"

"Affirmative Lieutenant Vasguez, they're waiting at the other end of the street." Overlord replied. He complied and motioned for the marines to follow Vasguez. They ran down the street and through the buildings. A Chinook was waiting there as Overlord had said. The marines gave a great "HOORAH!" and ran inside, taking their seats. Jackson sat at the end next to Vasguez, looking down at the silver dog tags that read 'Private Samuel F. Richardson'. He tightened his fist around it, holding back a tear. He felt a nudge on his arm and he looked up to see Vasguez staring at him.

"War's almost over, Jackson," he replied. "You'll get your shot at that bastard." He nodded and smiled. Then, he motioned to the semi-automatic Chinook cannon to his right.

"Well, as long as I can man that," he replied with a grin. "I think I can properly avenge Sam's death." Vasguez nodded with a smile. Jackson looked at the dog tags again. _It's almost over, Sam. It's almost over._

**We're one chapter away from the end of the first act! Will Nikolai's predictions be correct? If so, what will happen exactly? We'll find out in the next explosive chapter of Call of Duty: Modern Warfare!**


	10. Chapter 9: Shock and Awe

"Shock and Awe"

SGT Paul Jackson

Saudi Arabia-Capital City

2011

"_Jackson, I want you to get on that turret!" Vasguez ordered. He nodded, manning the gun and loading it with a chair of rockets inside. "Men, the entire USMC force is here. We're going in fast and hard."_

_ "Sir," Griggs spoke up. "I must apologize, but I'm being reassigned for a new mission, and I can't take part in the invasion." _

_ Vasguez nodded. "Alright, well it's been an honor serving with you Griggs."_

_ "Likewise, sir," Griggs replied with a smile. "Good luck." With that, he boarded a Black Hawk and it began to fly away as the Chinook took off once more. _

_ "As I was saying, today is the end of this. We're ending this war right here, right now. Lock and load, marines!"_

The sunset shown orange behind the massive fleet of helicopters. The city came into view on the horizon of the desert. RPG fire began to fly through the fleet before they even had the chance to fire a shot. The machine guns on the helicopter began to spin up and missiles began to fly through the air, streaking the sky with fire.

F22 and F18 fighter jets flew over the city, bombing the buildings within it. Smoke and dust flew in the air as the buildings crumbled to the ground. The Chinook came to the city and immediately was taken over by anti-air flak from tanks on the ground. Jackson pulled a large pin on the cannon and began to unload the rockets on the anti-air tanks and artillery on the ground. It was not easy considering the flak around them, but he managed to destroy the majority of the tanks while Cobras finished off the rest.

They moved further into the city square where a large statue of Al-Asad stood. Jackson knew he shouldn't have wasted ammunition, but he couldn't help it-he fired one at the base of the statue. It tipped over and crushed a tank and several militants, causing him to grin. The Chinook hovered above the street while several helicopters flew over the square, dropping off more of the marines. Tanks rolled down the street and fired at more of the troops down the road.

"We need to reload and refuel our bird," one of the cobra pilots radioed in. "We'll return in a few minutes when we're ready!"

"Got it, ma'am," Vasguez said. The Chinook landed in a courtyard a half kilometer away, and Vasguez yelled to the troops inside. "We got a team caught in the wire, we're getting them out! Move, move, move!" They ran outside of the Chinook and shot at the militants around the buildings. Gunfire was intense, bullets flying through the air and breaking large chunks off of the stone walls of the buildings.

"We need cover fire on the right flank!" A marine yelled into. The team ran up the stairs and found four marines trading fire with at least twenty militants. Seven marines lied on the ground, blood pouring from wounds on their lifeless bodies. One of the marines turned around and noticed Vasguez. "Hey, are you our ride out of here?"

"We're it, Captain!" Vasguez replied. "Now, let's get out of here before they get the chance to regroup!" He nodded and motioned for the marines to move out into the central yard below. It was a small construction site littered with machinery and blocks of stone. It took a very long time, but they were able to push through the defenses of the militants and into the rear courtyard where the Chinook was waiting. A rocket flew overhead, smashing into a building with a few of the militants behind them.

This is Dagger Five, we're refueled and fully loaded," the female pilot radioed in. "Did you guys miss me?"

"The hell we did!" Jackson replied. They ran inside of the Chinook, Jackson manning the turret again. For another hour, the marines flew around the city, firing into the cluttered buildings of the city. That was when Overlord radioed in.

"All troops, we have a possible nuclear device in the center of the city!" Overlord yelled in a strained voice. "We have bomb squad teams in the area but be ready to evacuate the city immediately!"

"Roger that, Overlord!" Vasguez yelled.

"SHIT! WE'RE GOING DOWN!" Jackson's eyes widened as he saw the Cobra get hit by an RPG rocket. The helicopter spun around and crashed in the street below between the buildings around.

"Keeting's KIA! I need assistance!" The female pilot screamed.

"We're going in, Marines! Let's go!" Vasguez yelled.

"Lieutenant Vasguez, you will not be within the minimum –safe distance if that nuclear device goes off!" Overlord protested.

"We're not leaving anyone behind, Overlord!" Vasguez growled. "We're going down!" Jackson grabbed his M4A1 and stood up behind the marines. The door lowered and they ran outside. They dropped a few of the militants that were running towards the wreckage. Gunfire flashed through the smoke of the crash site, showing the marines that the pilot was still able to fight. They ran forward, trading fire with the militants around them.

Jackson ran up to the cockpit of the Cobra to the pilot. "Are you alright?" He called.

"No, my leg's broken!" She replied. He put his arm under her legs and back and lifted her from the wreckage. She grabbed a G3 semi-automatic rifle from the Cobra and fired and the militants as Jackson carried her to the Chinook. The troops began to walk backwards as Jackson sat her down near the rear of the Chinook. Jackson held on to a grip at the top of the roof, firing at the militants with his M4A1. The marines ran inside behind him, another marine standing at the end, also holding on to one of the grips at the top.

The Chinook flew away above the buildings. The marines yelled a final "HOORAH!" as they flew away. The fleet flew above the buildings behind them, boasting as spectacular view of the USMC fleet.

"Shit, there's a confirmed nuclear threat in the city!" Overlord yelled. "Get out of there, now!" That's when the world was sent into oblivion. A massive explosion that blinded Jackson formed behind the fleet. Fire and light blinding him. The fleet spun out of control as did the Chinook. Jackson grabbed hold of the marine at the end who had lost his hold on the grip, but couldn't hold on, and he flew through the air to his death. The last thing Jackson saw was the ground rushing to his face. He heard an explosion and the screams of thirty thousand marines, then everything went silent and faded into blackness.


	11. Chapter 10: Aftermath

"Aftermath"

SGT Paul Jackson

Saudi Arabia-Somewhere in the Capital City

2011

_Overlord looked up in horror. He had heard their screams of terror and fear. He tried to radio in but got no response from any of the troops. He turned to one of the men at the monitors. "Get me a satellite image of the capital city, now!" He complied and tapped a few buttons on the monitor. It showed Saudi Arabia, but with a new feature. A dark cloud of smoke flew into the air._

_ "Zoom in on that spot I want to see what's down there." The screen zoomed in, showing a dark image. All he could see was black smoke and red dots. "Switch the settings to x-ray." The screen turned black and green. Buildings began to appear, as well as small, deformed shapes. The view flew in further and showed them as helicopter wreckages. The entire USMC fleet was there, the Chinooks, Black Hawks, Cobras-all of them were burned and torn to pieces._

_ Everyone in the command center looked up in stunned horror as they continued to look up at the screen. "S-sir," one of the soldiers said. "We-we've located Sergeant Paul Jackson-his transponder is still operational."_

_ "Patch me through, quickly!" Overlord yelled._

Jackson opened his eyes. He was aching in pain. The Chinook was empty save for the corpse of Vasguez lying outside of the cockpit. With sorrow, he fumbled around with the dog tags around his neck. He took them off and wrapped them around his wrist where Sam's were placed.

With much effort, he forced himself to his feet. He was limping around. He looked down and saw his leg covered in blood. His pant legs were torn and he saw cracked, bloody bones beneath the skin, tissue, and muscle beneath. He retched, then grabbed an M9 Pistol and limped out of the helicopter. He fell several meters to the street below.

He looked up as he gasped for air and saw an enormous mushroom cloud in the distance. The radiation was slowly killing him, taking his life away from himself. He walked down the street. Cars and debris littered it, and a building crumbled to the ground.

"Sergeant Paul Jackson, this is Overlord, do you copy?" A voice called into his radio. "Your transponder is still operational, can you hear me?" Jackson gasped as he stumbled and fell to the ground. He forced himself to his feet. He tasted blood; his senses began to fade as he searched for his radio.

"Sergeant Paul Jackson, this is Overlord, do you copy?" He repeated. Jackson found the radio and got his shaking hand to rise up to his mouth. He opened his mouth and brought the radio to his lips.

"My name," he breathed. "Is Sergeant Paul….Henry….Jackson."

"Jackson, where is your location? Can you hear me, son?"

Then with more effort than Jackson had ever given in his life, he breathed a single word into the radio. It was a word that gave him hope and purpose, one that he wished to be the last thing that anyone heard from him. "Hoorah." Then, with a gasp that tore through his lungs, he fell to the ground, his face grinding into the stone and grit. He saw the mushroom cloud. Inside of the smoke, he could see his entire life flash by in an instant. He could hear his childhood, see his teenage years, and could see the faces of Lieutenant Vasguez, Sam, his family, and his girlfriend. He was going to ask her to marry him when he got back. A single tear slid down his face, then the light in his blue eyes gave away and his breathe left his body. Al-Asad had had the last laugh.

**Nikolai's predictions were correct, and now the USMC is gone. What will happen now? Is Al-Asad really dead, and if so, where is he? Check back with the next chapter of Act 2 in Call of Duty: Modern Warfare! **


	12. Chapter 11: Safehouse

"Safehouse"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Azerbaijan

2011

"_Trust me, the man is a coward, Captain Price," Nikolai said, trying to reassure his distraught friend. The news of the nuke had impacted the SAS hard; they were supposed to have prevented that, but they were too late to tell the Americans before they rushed to their intimate deaths. Nikolai had sliced into the United States Mainframe to listen in on their radio traffic, hoping to warn them before the disaster. Instead, all they heard was a loud rumbling explosion and the screams of the thirty thousand United States Marines. "Al-Asad would never sacrifice himself, my friend. He is too selfish to do so."_

_ "So what do you propose we tell the yanks?" Price said, not looking at him. The four of them sat in the command center of an SAS camp outside of Russia. The bright light of the sun didn't at all reflect their dull feelings of sadness. Nikolai was beginning to worry about Price; he hadn't seen him this sad since Beruit. _

_ "We don't tell them anything," he replied. "Except that we're finding the bastard."_

_ "What do you mean, Nikolai?" Soap asked. _

_ "My men have told me of a place that Al-Asad has used in the past," he said. "The safe house is in northern Azerbaijan. I will inform Sergeant Kamarov and get his men to redirect themselves there. Take the opportunity if you wish, but I must report back to the President on my findings." He extended his hand to Price._

_ "Thanks for the help, mate," Price said, shaking his hand. "I'll see you on the far side."_

_ "Likewise, Captain Price," Nikolai said. "Good luck, my friends." With that, he turned from their group and left. _

_ "Well, you boys get sorted out, we're going to Azerbaijan." Price said with finality._

_ "Oh, good," Gaz said, giving a weak smile. "I hear that it's lovely this time of the year."_

"There's Kamarov's right-hand man," Price said as a man in a Russian Loyalist uniform stepped out into the open, flashing a light three times as a signal for them to come out. They stood up from the grass, raising their rifles in greeting to the man. He raised his gun in salute as well, then jogged up to them. "All right, Kovosgin," Price said. "What's the word?"

"Kamarov has moved the troops further into the village and has recruited the help of one of our elite Hind pilots for anything that we need assistance on," Kovosgin replied. "Come, we must go before we lose the chance to capture Al-Asad." As they trekked up the hill, they began to hear screams and gunfire.

"What in bloody hell is going on up there?" Gaz asked.

"It's the Ultranationalists," Kovosgin replied grimly. "They are killing the villagers."

"Not for long, they're not," Gaz growled. The village was not particularly large-in fact it was very small considering how many people were supposedly living there. Almost immediately, they were under fire from all directions, the Ultranationalists turning to their building immediately. They scrambled inside for cover, only to see the most horrific sight they had ever seen-a small family lay there, their corpses leaking blood and other fluids onto the ground. A man's arm was over his dead wife, a gun in his hand. Soap held back tears-the man had tried to protect his family. Next to them was a small girl, he arms clutching a dead dog.

Gaz swore violently and punched a wall. "They're going to pay for this," he snarled. Soap couldn't agree with him more. It took them nearly an hour and a half, but they were able to secure the village and clear its multiple small buildings of the hostile forces. At the end of the village was a large barn house. Bullets flew from the shacks outside of it, so Soap called in the Hind. Its massive guns fired bullets through all of the enemy soldiers inside, but at Price's order, the Hind stopped firing as its guns turned to the barn house.

They ran up to the barn house and formed up outside of the door. Soap remembered the bodies of the poor family in their home, and all of the marines that lost their lives in Saudi Arabia, and snarled. He wanted more than anything else to kill Al-Asad, but Price noticed his expression of anger.

"Remember, lads," Price said. "We need him alive." He unhooked a flashbang from his belt and tossed it through the door. As soon as the explosion went off, he stormed inside, shooting his M4A1 at the enemy soldiers inside. Then, he flipped the gun around and brought it up hard under a man's chin: the man was Al-Asad. He pushed him to the ground and began to beat him.

"WHY DID YOU DO IT?" Price snarled, punching Al-Asad in the face. Blood streamed down his nose and from his mouth as Price continued to punch him. "WHO GAVE YOU THE BLOODY BOMB?"

"I-" Al-Asad said in Arabic. "I-will-NEVER-tell you!" Price didn't take that as an answer and punched him again.

"I WANT A NAME, GOD DAMMIT!" Price screamed. "GIVE ME HIS BLOODY NAME!" He continued to interrogate him until a cell phone began to ring. Price looked up from his bloody haze and looked around. Gaz went rummaging through the bags on the seat next to Al-Asad. Al-Asad glared at the bags and then at Gaz, menacingly. He pulled out a cell phone.

"Sir, it's his cell phone," Gaz reported, tossing him the small silver phone. Price flipped it open and pressed 'talk' on the phone. He brought it up to his ear and listened. Soap couldn't make out what was said, but he could hear a deep Russian accent. Price's eyes widened in stunned shock; Soap looked at Gaz in confusion, but he only shrugged. Then, Price's eyes darkened as he through the phone to the ground, smashing it with the heel of his boot. He turned around to look at Al-Asad, who was currently struggling against his bindings. Price brought out a pistol and shot him through his forehead. Gaz and Soap both flinched from the sound of the bullet cracking Al-Asad's skull. Price stood there, glowering at Al-Asad's corpse. Fury emitted from him; it was almost in the air.

"Who was it, sir?" Gaz asked cautiously.

"Who was it?" Price asked. "Who was it? Why it just confirmed the most bloody big joke ever created in the world!" Soap was truly confused, and by Gaz's expression, he was just as confused as he was. It was a few minutes before Price looked at the two of them, a dark, deadly look on his face, a sneer on his lips. "Zakhaev." He spat the name like poison. "The one who called was Imran Zakhaev."


	13. Chapter 12: All Ghillied Up

"All Ghillied Up"

Lieutenant John Price

Pripyat

1996

15 Years ago

"_I was just a 'Leftenant' back then," Price said wistfully as he lit a cigar. "I was out doing some wet work in Chernobyl."_

_ "Pripyat, eh?" Gaz asked. "Isn't that city uninhabited now?"_

_ Price nodded. "Radiation from a nuclear accident sent fifty thousand people out of the city. It was Christmas for the bad guys there, but people still used that city a lot to get their hands on nuclear material. Then, there was lot's activity, especially from one man,"_

_ "Imran Zakhaev," Soap said._

_ "Aye, it was him who we were sent to kill," he said. "After all, spare cash for spent fuel rods?" He gave demented chuckle. "That sounds like a hell of a recipe for disaster if you asked me. My mentor and I were sent in to kill him-it was the very first assassination order that any known country has given since the Second World War. I was under the command of my mentor and friend, Captain MacMillan."_

"There's too much radiation in this area," a man with a Scottish accent said to Price. "We're going to have to go around. Come on, Leftenant, let's go." A few meters ahead of him, the man in the Ghillie suit, Captain MacMillan, stood up from the long, dying grass. Price was wearing a Ghillie suit as well, but he couldn't stand it. Sure it made whoever was wearing it a master of stealth, it came with a price: the suit was _extremely_ uncomfortable. Price still couldn't understand why MacMillan called him a 'Leftenant' rather than the real name, 'Lieutenant'; perhaps it was due to his accent? No matter, Price liked it.

He stood up, hoisting his suppressed M21 sniper rifle. It and his body were covered in the Ghillie clothing. His weapons were even camouflaged to blend in to their environment. They were-as MacMillan called it-'All Ghillied up'. The two SAS soldiers stalked through the grass, barely making a sound on the soft ground. They were masters of stealth, but only MacMillan was a master of patience. It was a trait that Price lacked, but he was willing to learn if it helped. MacMillan was fortunately a very patient teacher as much as a patient assassin, and was willing to train Price no matter how long it took him to learn.

"There's post-marked pockets of radiation all over this area, Leftenant," MacMillan said, briefly turning back to him. "Watch out for them. If you absorb too much of that radiation, you're a dead man; got it, lad?"

"Aye, Captain," Price replied. He knew about the radiation all too well. They had spent the past three hours maneuvering around the pockets of high radiation to get to the location they were at now. If they were able to go straight, it would have only taken about an hour to get there rather than two. They, however, were not keen on dying any time soon.

Luckily, there was far less radiation in this part of Pripyat. Their mission was to get into a target building deep in the center of the city to oversee the meeting between two Ultranationalist groups getting their hands on extreme nuclear material. The path into the city, however, was only through a large area of enemy territory. Price wasn't too worried, though; he was perfectly fine with it, in fact. It would give him something to do rather than be bored to death by stalking around a radiated city.

They crawled through the grass and came upon a rise where they saw two Ultranationalist soldiers scouting the area. The two assassins aimed at the scouts, the two men completely oblivious to of that their attackers were directly under their noses. Their bodies soundlessly fell to the ground, dead before they even hit.

They ran past the two and around a building full of Ultranationalists. MacMillan told Price to not even think about trying to take them all on. Price grinned as they set off deeper into the village. They came upon a large church when MacMillan urgently ordered him to drop to the ground. He couldn't see anything other than a lone man patrolling the parking lot, oblivious to their presence. That's when MacMillan pointed his long fingers at the tower of the church. A man stood there, looking out over the area around the church.

Price was always amazed at how much MacMillan could see. It was as though he knew that the enemies were there before the two even got near their locations. Price nodded; MacMillan couldn't move to take a shot at the man in the tower or the both he and the man in the lot would spot him. He crawled on the ground around a tree nearby, taking a shot at the lookout. Unfortunately, the wooden building was old, and the boards creaked loudly. The man in the lot looked up, startled, raising his AK47 to see where the sound had come from. Just as he noticed the blood that streaked the shattered windows of the tower, Price fired, dropping the man on sight. MacMillan stood up and nodded his gratitude to Price.

They formed up outside of the door to the inside of the church. MacMillan cautiously opened the door, letting it soundlessly swing open. They stalked inside, noticing nothing but a few weapons left on the floor and tables around the church. Wood was cracked and broken, boards littering the ground. The white paint was peeling off the walls, and the painted glass window behind the altar was shattered, colorful shards lying on the ground around it. Chairs where the worshippers would sit down were lying strewn around, holy books lying torn and burned, others molding and covered with cobwebs. Price was mesmerized by the city's state.

MacMillan opened the door at the other end of the church, leading into the graveyard behind it. Tombstones that would never again be visited were littered around the yard, cracked, weathered, and broken from years exposed to the elements. They walked through the graveyard, dropping only when a Hind flew overhead. They trekked through a vast, open field when MacMillan held up his fist to stop. There was an odd rumbling on the ground. His eyes widened and he ordered Price to drop to the ground.

"What is it, sir?" Price asked.

"A whole battalion is coming towards us!" MacMillan hissed urgently. "Tanks, militants, Ultranationalists, automatic weapons, you name it! You can maneuver around them when you need to, but do so quietly and slowly or we're both dead." Price nodded, hoping that the Ghillie suits would hide them from harm. The rumbling continued for another five minutes, but they still didn't see anything.

"Do you think they went in another direction?" Price asked. MacMillan held up his fist.

"They're here," was all he said, then Price saw the barrel of a cannon come over the rise, the massive treads and armor of a tank attached to it. The Ultranationalists came with it as well as three heavily armored vehicles. Price was absolutely terrified despite MacMillan's attempt at reassurance. Price was surprised that they couldn't hear the rapid beat of his heart; it sure sounded loud enough in his ears.

The treads on tanks churned up the earth, the ground shaking violently as though they were in the wake of an earthquake. The Ultranationalists walked by, surveying the area. Price was glad there was a black cloth in front of his mouth or they would see and hear his labored breathing in the frigid air. Price eyed their AK47s with caution. There was no way that he wanted to be caught by those troops. It was a few minutes before the battalion went continued past them. They didn't continue to move until the rumbling in the ground had ceased.

They crawled forward slowly, trying to be as silent and stealthy as possible. They looked back to see that the battalion had already gone-they were clear. They stood up and stalked through the tall, dead grass until they reached an abandoned tank yard. The tanks and other vehicles there were destroyed, rotting, and overgrown with mildew, moss, other plants growing inside and outside of them. As they continued inside of the tank yard, Price could smell the scent of decay and blood. They looked over the top of a tank and saw two soldiers tossing men into a small pond, blood covering their decaying corpses.

"It looks like they've already eliminated the men they couldn't buy out," MacMillan said with a growl. "It's not going to be easy to eliminate all those men, but then again, neither is sneaking past them. It's your call, Leftenant."

"Sneaking by isn't an option," Price said grimly, staring angrily at the four men in the area and then at the pile of bodies. MacMillan nodded and pointed his M21 at the two men just outside of the pond. They fired at the two men when they were about ten meters apart, their bodies falling silently in the grass.

"Don't fire at the two by the lorry just yet," MacMillan ordered. "We'll have to take them out at the same time, lad."

"Roger that," Price said. "I'll get into position." He crawled through the grass until he lined his sights upon one of the men. MacMillan nodded and Price fired. The second man flinched and made a grab for his AK74u on the ground, but MacMillan's bullet flew through his neck. They ran past the water-which was probably radioactive-and Price gave a silent salute to the dead men.

The two stalked through a maze of crates and boxes inside. At the end, they heard a lot of talking, helicopter propellers, and cars outside. MacMillan peered outside of the metal doors of the inside of one of the crates. "What's out there?" Price asked.

"It's a bloody convention," MacMillan breathed. "Wait for my go, and follow me. We're going to have to cut right through them." They waited a few minutes then MacMillan said, "Ok-GO!" They smashed through the metal doors and sprinted into the center of the convoy and dived under the trucks. They crawled through them, and then waited at the end. A large troop transport drove up behind their car, and they were once again able to crawl under it to the end of the convoy. They waited a moment for the troops to file out, then rolled out from their cover and sprinted to the other end of the convoy and into the cover of more crates.

"I don't think they saw us, lad," MacMillan said, and they continued on their way. Price didn't need MacMillan to point out the man on the balcony of one of the buildings ahead, and he complimented him on his awareness. Price was pleased with himself. They moved further into the abandoned city, noticing the shattered windows, tattered clothing, papers, utensils, toys, and other objects lying strewn about the area.

They went through an old apartment building, the walls cracking and windows shattered. Price saw a small stuffed animal lying on the ground, mildew and cobwebs overtaking the small stuffed bear. He looked at it in sorrow and wondered if the your child who had owned it had got out in time. Many hadn't left Pripyat in time when the nuclear plant leaked its radioactive contents across the area. The place was a ghost town, and it would stay that way for thousands of years until the radioactive material had naturally left the area.

They saw a ragged animal eating the carcass of its owner. It was a German shepherd, but it was even more vicious then rabid wolf, but even a wolf wouldn't wasn't as vicious and mad as this dog. Its crazed eyes glared at the two. "That pooch doesn't look too friendly," MacMillan said. "Don't antagonize it, eh lad?" They walked around it as it snarled at them with its bloody fangs. The two must have somehow survived the nuclear meltdown but had been starving. It must have driven the poor dog insane and it had done the one thing that all animals knew how to do: survive, even if that meant eating its companion to do so.

They moved inside of a large office building, books, racks, machinery, tables, and other objects and materials used by the company were strewn everywhere. Price looked at the city with sorrow, almost hearing the sounds of children playing, adults at work, dog's barking-it tore at Price's heart to look at the poor city and see its current state of disrepair.

"Look at this place," MacMillan said, clearly thinking the same thoughts as Price. "Fifty thousand people used to live here, and now's it's reduced to this ghost town. I've never seen anything like it-it's a tragedy." He finished, shaking his head. Price couldn't agree with the Scottish Captain more. They ran outside through the main parking lot-the target building was directly ahead of them. Price slung his M21 to his back and instead took out his Barret .50 Caliber Sniper Rifle. Soon, they would finish their mission that they had worked so hard to get done: killing Imran Zakhaev.


	14. Chapter 13: One Shot, One Kill

"One Shot, One Kill"

Lieutenant John Price

Pripyat

1996

15 Years ago

"_But something went wrong," Soap interrupted. "If your mission was to kill Zakhaev but he's still out there, then what happened?" Price was still telling his story to Gaz and Soap. They had long since removed Al-Asad's body from the barn, but the blood on the ground still remained. Soap had noticed that even Gaz was surprised by Price's story-he obviously never told anyone about this mission of his. What happened that was so bad that even Price didn't want anyone to know about it?_

_ "Aye, something definitely went wrong, Soap," Price replied. "What that is, I've not a clue. I could have sworn that we confirmed the kill, but obviously, we hadn't." He blew smoke from his mouth, then flicked away the smoldering cigar, stomping the flame out with the heel of his boot. _

_ "So what happened?" Gaz asked. Price sighed, and then continued his story._

_ "We had waited for three bloody long days," Price said. "And we still hadn't seen him. We were about to call in Baseplate to pick us up, but then the convention began."_

"Leftenant Price, the meeting is underway!" MacMillan said to Price urgently. His eyes snapped open and he rolled over from the mat he had been sleeping on. They would each take three hour shifts day and night to see if the meeting was going on. They were in the top floor of a large building, plants, tables, and desks all stored up there.

The sky was gray and cloudy-in fact that was just about how the weather had been there for a week, even before their mission had officially started. Now Price moved up to his Barret .50 Cal, a picture of Imran Zakhaev directly next to it so he knew which one to aim for. He had grown used to the Ghillie suit over the past few days, but that didn't mean he was eager to put it back on. He longed for his former SAS uniform and his tattered cowboy hat, but he had to keep in mind that he had to survive long enough to see them again.

The round image of the area a few miles ahead contained a new feature: about fifteen cars and a few troop transports and armored vehicles. He zoomed in on his scope to see about forty Ultranationalists in the area.

"Remember what I told you, lad," MacMillan whispered next to him. "You have to keep in mind variable humidity and the wind speed upon the bullet's flight path. In this weather, you'll also have to take the Coriolis Effect into account." Price nodded but didn't reply verbally-he needed to keep his utmost concentration when it came to something this. "You can try to compensate for it, or you can wait it out, but he might leave by the time the wind dies down. It's your call, Leftenant." For Price, there was no alternative: he had to do this today or he would never get the chance to do it again. For a few moments, no one else came into view and he wondered if it was a decoy. He asked MacMillan about it who was surveying the area through his M21. It may not be the most effective at their range, but he could help Price kill off anyone that got a fix on their location. MacMillan didn't seem fazed about it, so Price decided to be patient and wait for him to come out.

Suddenly, a dark skinned man with a full beard wearing a black jacket and jeans came out, carrying a briefcase. "It's him," Price said, and MacMillan nodded. Zakhaev had placed the case on a table they had set up, opened it, and revealed what must have been a fortune of money. He gestured to the case and another man looked at it, intrigued. On another table were fuel rods containing nuclear material inside of them. It was far too easy to replicate that kind of stuff, and that was why they were here-to stop Zakhaev from making this deal and getting the Ultranationalists their hands on nuclear fuel rods.

There was a deformed Spetsnaz insignia weaved into a red flag on a car, and MacMillan pointed to it. "Keep an eye on that flag-look for any change in any speed or direction." Price nodded again and continued to watch their conversation unfold. As many times as Price wanted to line up a perfect shot, the wind changed and prevented him from taking the shot. Zakhaev's face was one of pure fury. Whatever was being said down there was obviously not good to his ears.

Price began to worry that he wouldn't be able to get a chance if Zakhaev became too angry with his associates and decided to call off the deal and leave early. Suddenly, a Hind flew into view.

"Ah, where did he come from?" MacMillan sighed, exasperated. Hold on lad, you'll get your chance. Just be patient." _Be patient? That was MacMillan's advice?_ Price thought. _Yeah, patience isn't on my side right now, sir!_ Either way, he continued to look until the Hind flew off, but Zakhaev had disappeared from view. Price began to panic, but MacMillan put a reassuring hand on his arm and pointed. He adjusted the view and saw that Zakhaev had been talking to another one of his men, then returned to the man he was talking to.

He was terribly angry at this point, and stalked towards him, pointing a long, crooked finger at him. That's when Price noticed that the flag had dropped down completely. MacMillan saw it too.

"It's now or never, lad!" He said. "TAKE THE SHOT!" Price did just that, but the bullet curved as the wind picked up again. Price cursed violently and slammed his fist into the concrete ground. When he looked, he the bullet fly towards Zakhaev, and the next thing Price saw was his arm fall off in a shower of blood. His body flipped backward from the force of the bullet, and everyone in the area scrambled for cover. "Good job, Leftenant. Shock and blood loss should take care of the rest." Price smiled in triumph, but it was short-lived as the Hind flew back. Price fired again, the bullet flying through the cockpit viewport and into the chest of the pilot. The window was suddenly painted red and the Hind spun out of control, crashing to the ground many meters below.

"Come on, Leftenant! We have to go!" MacMillan cried urgently. Price had no more need for the Barret and left it there running after MacMillan with his now unsuppressed M21-there was no point to stealth now. "Follow my lead!" He grabbed a rope hanging from the window of the top floor and began to rappel down. Price grabbed another just in time as a missile crashed through the top floor, annihilating it. MacMillan motioned for Price to follow him, and the two ran through the streets of the town.

"Baseplate, come in, this is Alpha Six!" MacMillan yelled into his radio. "The target is eliminated and we are heading to the primary LZ on the far side of the city!"

"Copy that Alpha we're sending a squadron to pick you up," the American man at the other end replied. "You just get to the LZ and we'll meet you there, out!" The two ran through the street around abandoned cars and trucks when the wild dog they had seen only a few days earlier leaped at Price with a snarl on its fanged lips. It pinned him to the ground and made a lunge for his throat, but Price whipped his pistol up and fired three shots into the dog's head. It both saved Price's life and put the poor animal out of its sure-to-be lifelong misery.

They ran through an office just as bullets began to fly towards them. They cut through the buildings and ran into a large yard between the rows of buildings. More bullets flew towards them and they fired back, cutting down the ten men following them. MacMillan tossed Price three magazines and a G3 Semi-automatic assault rifle, while he picked up two magazines and an AK47. Then, they heard helicopter propellers and looked up to see another Hind.

"We'll take it out together!" MacMillan shouted, and Price complied, firing every bullet in his M21's magazine into the helicopter. One of their bullets hit a small part between the propellers and the Hind itself, and it spun wildly out of control, crashing into buildings as it went down. "Take that, you bastard," MacMillan growled as they began to walk away. Then, its crash course redirected and it slammed into the ground, throwing a metal beam at MacMillan's leg. He screamed in agony as he hit the ground, the Hind smashing its way towards him. The pilots were already dead, the propellers beginning to slow down. He put his hand up to stop it from hitting him, and then looked back at Price.

"Sir, are you alright?" Price asked him frantically.

"Bloody hell, lad," MacMillan said. "I can't move. You'll have to go on without me, Leftenant."

"NO!" He protested. "I'm getting you out of here, come on!" He threw MacMillan's arm over his shoulder and he carried the man into the city. MacMillan fired at anyone in their way as they worked their way through. At one point, they had to escape into a rundown hotel and cut through the shower rooms of the public pool. When they got there, Price saw a truly gruesome sight: five dogs were at the bottom of the pool, feasting on other dogs and two humans. MacMillan banged his M21 on a metal beam and the dogs went berserk. They ran past the two, but took three Ultranationalists patrolling the area with them.

Ahead were the old remains of a carnival. There was a Ferris wheel in the back and a bumper car arena next to it. "There's the LZ, Leftenant," MacMillan said, confirming Price's thoughts. "Baseplate, what's our position?"

"Alpha Six, we're almost there, but you might have to defend the area for a bit," Baseplate replied. "We're picking up a large enemy force near your location!"

"Roger that, Baseplate! Just get here, quickly!" Then he turned to Price. "I can provide over watch from that ridge, just keep yourself safe, alright?" Price nodded, and then set down MacMillan. He grabbed Price's arm as he began to walk away to set down Claymore mines, then shoved a small metal object in his hand: it was MacMillan's dog tags.

"Sir, I can't-" Price began.

"I doubt that I'll make it out of this one, Leftenant," MacMillan said, taking off the sunglasses and black cloth from his face so he could see and talk to Price clearly. "I officially promote you to 'Captain', all right lad? Now I want you to take these tags, and when the yanks get here, I want you to get out as fast as you can while I hold them off, ok? Can you do that for me, Captain?" Price stood staring at MacMillan in shock; he was a Captain now, and he couldn't believe it. Yet he couldn't bear to hold MacMillan's dog tags, knowing this would be the last time he saw his friend. Ye saluted MacMillan, and then ran off to put the claymores down. He hid behind the Bumper Car Arena then he patiently waited.

It wasn't long before what must have been a full battalion of Ultranationalist soldiers came, and he was forced to give away his position, taking shots at them with his M21. MacMillan began to fire at them as well. It was nearly fifteen minutes of shooting when MacMillan yelled into his radio. "Baseplate, where are you?"

"We're almost there, Bravo Six, just hold on!" The American called. Price was on his last magazine in his G3, his M21 already rendered useless and lying on the ground. Then, a Chinook flew into the area, large cannon shots flying from the side and machine gun bullets flying from the back. The Ultranationalists were killed quickly. "Get on board, quickly!"

Price knew what MacMillan told him, but he couldn't bear to leave him behind. He ran to MacMillan's location and picked him up. "Price, what are you-?"

"I'm not leaving you behind, sir!" Price yelled. "Come on!" He carried MacMillan to the Chinook, bringing him inside. MacMillan clutched his leg in pain as the marines fired at the Ultranationalists while they worked back into the Chinook.

"Pilot, we're all aboard!" One of the Americans yelled.

"All right, men we're out of here!" The pilot yelled, the Chinook taking off from the LZ, bullets flying towards them. They flew over the burning building that they had shot Zakhaev in, and then flew up and out of Pripyat.

"Captain Price, I am in your debt," MacMillan said. "Thank you, and excellent job."

"Don't mention it, Mac," Price said. _I guess I won't have to call him sir anymore now will I?_ He thought. "Just don't mention it."

15 Years Later (Present Day)

"So Zakhaev's back, then?" Gaz asked him. Price seemed lost in thought, probably remembering those few days fifteen years ago. Soap was in awe of Price-he couldn't believe what he told them all.

"Unfortunately so, Gaz," Price replied a few moments later. "This time however, I'm going to confirm what I couldn't fifteen years ago. Get me a radio to Baseplate, Gaz; I need to make a call." Gaz nodded and gave him the radio.

"Hello? Who is this?" A man with a Scottish voice answered. Soap's and Gaz's eyes widened. Was that really who they thought it was?

"Mac, it's John," Price said. "We have a new mission. Zakhaev's back."


	15. Chapter 14: Heat

"Heat"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Azerbaijan, Al-Asad's Safe House

2011

"_Any time now, every Ultranationalist psycho is going to be on our heels to get at Al-Asad." Price informed the small team. A few of the Russian's from Kamarov's military had stayed behind to help them as needed._

_ "At least," Gaz said with a short glance out the back door of the farm. "What's left of him."_

_ "Right, whatever's left of the USMC that didn't go into Saudi Arabia is going to be helping us find Zakhaev." Price said. _

_ "A joint op?" Soap asked him, receiving a nod from Price._

_ "Alright men, let's get started on setting up a defensive perimeter," Price said. "You three," he said, talking to the Russians. "I need you to set up C4 along all of the ridgelines along the bottom hill and the field to the southeast. You two," he said, talking to Soap and Gaz. "You're with me to set up Claymores and ammunition at tactical emplacements if they manage to push us back up the hill. Is everyone clear on their priorities?" Everyone nodded, grabbing supplies from inside of the barn._

_ "Let's do this," Gaz said with a determined grin._

"We know that you are up there!"A deep Russian accent sounded from the bottom of the hill, speaking to them in faulty English. "Come down now and make it easy on yourself! Give us Al-Asad and you may leave without harm!"

"Don't believe that load of bullocks, lads," Price said as they ran down to the church house at the top of the final ridge near the bottom of the hill. Soap ran into the church and climbed the ladder into the tower. He was carrying and L86 SAW Light Machine Gun-though he had no idea why they called it 'light' when the gun was enormous-and had an M21 strapped to his back. At the top of the tower were two M21 and L86 magazines as well as three RPG rockets and a launcher.

Soap looked down and saw Price, Gaz, and the three Russians lying in the grass, aiming their weapons at the Ultranationalists that were slowly advancing up the hill. They couldn't see the enormous amount of troops there were, however, which was why Soap was in the tower. Gaz carried with him a detonator to fire the C4 explosives that lined the bottom and middle sections of the hill. Gaz looked up at Soap and made a two pronged sign with his fingers, but Soap shook his head and held up all of his fingers.

Slowly, he curled up each finger into a fist, then nodded at Gaz and pulled his fist in a downward motion. He nodded and pulled the trigger of the detonator. Instantly, the hill erupted in a wall of intense flame. The Ultranationalist troops went flying high into the air, crashing in lifeless heaps on the ground far below. There were screams and cries of agony, and then more explosions sounded along the hillside as Gaz hit the trigger a second time, activating the second line of C4. All of them began to fire at the troops, spreading themselves out so the Ultranationalists were taking fire from all sides. It also made the Ultranationalists believe that there were more of them then just six.

Soap picked up an RPG and loaded it with a rocket. The RPG-or Rocket Propelled Grenade-was notoriously inaccurate unless one was to invest heavily in a sight and heat seeking missile. To hit the target he wished, Soap was forced to aim lower and to left of where he really meant to fire. He did just that, aiming at a group of men taking cover behind a small grove of trees at the bottom of the hill. He fired, the missile curving in mid-air and smashing into the ground in front of them. Instantly, the hillside exploded, throwing dirt, rock, and flame at the Ultranationalists.

He did so with three more groups with what remained of his rockets, and then tossed the launcher away. As he did that, he grabbed his M21 and scoped in on the men at the bottom of the hill. He fired more shots at them, when suddenly the right side of the church exploded, wood, papers, and glass flying in all directions. He instantly noted that they were using mortars to target their position. He called down to Price and reported to him exactly what was happening.

"Come on everyone! Fall back to the cantina over the hill!" Price yelled. "Soap, get to your position!"

"Roger that!" Soap replied. Near the building that had been burning earlier the previous night was a crashed Black Hawk. The rest of it was out of order, but the mini gun inside was still fully operational and carried seven hundred rounds inside of it. Soap climbed inside and grabbed the mini gun, aiming it down the hill and holding down the left trigger, making the barrels spin and create a high-pitched whine as it readied up.

Smoke screens began to appear in front of the church, making it impossible for Soap to see the troops. He looked around for the troops, but saw nothing through the thick layer of pale gray smoke. Then, he saw dark figures begin to emerge from the smoke. He fired at them, cutting them down instantly as the large bullets tore through their bodies.

The mortars began to explode closer and closer to the Black Hawk, so Soap slid out of the helicopter and sprinted up the hill to the cantina. Bullets flew and whizzed around him, forcing him to run even faster. He was about to fire at them with his M21, but noticed that he had run out of all of his ammunition for the gun. He did, however, still have two more magazines for his L86 SAW.

He threw the M21 to the ground and whipped out his L86, firing a few shots at the men coming up, but was soon pushed back into the Cantina. At the top floor, he placed a Claymore for anyone who came up the stairs. He ran into the main kitchen area and through the back at one of the dining rooms. He grabbed a detonator and took cover behind one of the walls as Price, Gaz, and the Russians did the same. Price was looking outside just slightly over the bottom of the window.

"NOW!" He yelled, and they all pulled the detonators. A large explosion sounded as the C4 rows blew apart. The room was lit orange as the explosions went off. Wood and rock flew through the windows and into the dining room. They ran out the back door and up the hill once more to the barn that Al-Asad had been hiding in. They fired shots at the rapidly advancing Ultranationalists behind them as they worked their way to the barn. Suddenly, one of the sheds exploded into flame. Soap looked back and saw tanks rolling up the hill.

"Captain Price!" He yelled. "They've mobilized tanks!" Price looked at them and nodded, running into the barn. He came out carrying three rockets and a Javelin Rocket Launcher. He handed them to Soap.

"We'll cover you just get rid of those tanks!" He yelled over the bullets and cannon shots flying around them. Soap nodded and ran behind one of the sheds, loading the three massive rockets into the Javelin. He hefted the massive launcher onto his shoulder and took aim at one of the tanks. The vehicle tracker began to beep and he pulled the trigger, firing the rocket. It shot straight up into the air and then plummeted downward and smashed into the tank, engulfing the armored vehicle in a ball of flame.

He did the same with the rest of the tanks, and then an F18 Bomber flew overhead. It circled around and dropped several bombs on the ranks of enemies below, annihilating them all. They heard missiles from behind them and saw a Chinook flying overheard. It was their ride out of there, but it was being targeted with SAM Turret Rockets.

"Bravo 6, we cannot pick you up!" The American pilot screamed into the radio. "These mountains are filled with mobile SAM sites! We're going to try to pick you up back at the bottom of the hill!"

"Roger that!" Price yelled. "We'll meet you there!" Soap and Gaz ran up to Price to ask them where they were heading while the Russians worked their way to them. "They can't get us at this rendezvous point! We have to get to the bottom of the hill!"

"WHAT!" Gaz yelled incredulously. "We just busted our arses getting to this LZ, and now we have to go all the way back down!"

"There's nothing we can do about that now, Gaz!" Price yelled. "Just get to the bottom of that hill! Soap, I want you to get the intel we recovered in that barn and follow us down! We're going to make a break for the bottom!" Soap nodded and dashed into the barn. He gathered the papers and Al-Asad's cell phone and stuffed them into his backpack. He then began to sprint after them down the hill. He tripped over something, and then looked back to see the dead body of one of the Russians. With sorrow, he tore the dog tags from his neck and saluted his corpse as he ran away.

They were already far ahead of him, but he was able to catch up despite the mortar and RPG fire around him. He jumped down behind the gas station that they had come across when meeting with Kamarov's right-hand man the previous night. The lake across from it glimmered beautifully in the sunlight. At the dock, he saw a Chinook, the SAS and Russians clambering inside as more of the marines outside fired behind Soap at the Ultranationalists. He climbed on board and was immediately greeted by one of the Russians.

"Sergeant," he asked frantically. "Have you seen Tarvai? He didn't come aboard." With great sorrow, he closed his eyes and shook his head. He took the man's hand and placed the dog tags into his outstretched palm. He couldn't look at the man; he couldn't bear to see the expression of hurt and sorrow that he was probably feeling at the realization of losing his friend. It wasn't fair that he had to die just as they were being evacuated, but yet he did.

The man slumped into the chair and looked at the blood stained dog tags in shock, then looked outside open-mouthed at the hill, trying to catch one last glimpse of his friend, tears running down his cheeks. He blinked them away and silently sobbed as the marines climbed in and the Chinook took off. An African American man approached Price.

"Are you Captain John Price?" He asked. He nodded, and the man continued, stretching his hand out to shake it with Price. "Name's Staff Sergeant Griggs, I've been reassigned to your squadron." Price nodded and shook his head.

"I'm sorry about your loss, mate," he said, referring to the nuke in Saudi Arabia. Griggs, looked away briefly, then breathed in and looked back.

"Not to worry, sir," he said. "After all, you're going to help me get the bastard that caused this." Price nodded and looked back at him.

"Well it's good to have you aboard, Griggs," Price said. "I've got a blood feud with the man who did, and the sooner we kill him, the better." The two began to talk more while Soap looked outside at what used to be a beautiful mountain range get absorbed in a ball of fire as more fighters shot rockets and bombed it, taking the Ultranationalists with it. Soon, they would be going off to hunt down Zakhaev, and avenge the deaths of the USMC. It was time to take the fight to the enemy.


	16. Chapter 15: Sins of the Father

"Sins of the Father"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Southern Russia

2011

"_Well, you boys got that bastard," Griggs said as they examined Al-Asad's papers. They had been trying to get a location of Zakhaev out of the papers and cell phone calls, but couldn't find an exact location._

_ "Well he's not the one that's been killing your marines," Price said. "Sorry mate." Price was getting agitated; they had examined everything several times already and Nikolai had already traced all the calls but there was a code embedded in the signal from the phone calls that prevented him from accurately tracing the location other than the fact that they had all come from somewhere in Russia. _

_ Nikolai may have been an expert at hacking into any system in the world, but this was a code that he couldn't get through, which only added to Price's anger. Soap had done more thinking on how to find the man then he had done in his years in school. Still, they couldn't come to any solid conclusions. Then, Soap found something-it was a man named Victor Zakhaev. He looked into the national database for Victor Zakhaev and was able to find a host of information on him. He handed the papers to Price, who gave Soap a questioning look._

_ "His name is Victor Zakhaev," he said. "Unlike the ghost, Imran Zakhaev, I could find a treasure trove of information on the kid, and found out that American Intelligence is already keeping an eye on him." He snatched the papers from him and examined them, then smiled and handed them to Griggs. _

_ "Little daddy's boy, huh?" Griggs said. "What do we got on him?"_

_ "Evidently he's the leader of the Ultranationalist group in the field," Price said. "He's important to their cause, and I bet you can guess how he'll help."_

_ "Ah, and the little punk will lead us to Zakhaev, right?" Griggs asked, receiving a curt nod from Price, causing him to smile. _

_ "Kamarov has the location on the kid," Price said, getting off of the radio. "We're heading for the forests in the southern part of Russia."_

_ "The sins of our fathers," Gaz muttered. Griggs laughed._

_ "Ain't it a bitch." He said._

"This is the best way in, Captain Price," Kamarov said. They stood in an old junkyard of cars outside of a gas station and restaurant about two hundred meters outside of the yard. "The vehicle checkpoint is directly ahead." It was frigid morning, only about six o'clock in the morning, and they were all wearing heavier clothing to keep out the cold. Soap carried an R700 Sniper Rifle with armor piercing bullets in each clip. The clips were far different from the normal magazines-they were mainly used in World War Two until they were replaced with magazines, but a few of the sniper rifles still carried clips instead, which had to be loaded with individual bullets instead of a magazine.

"Thanks, Kamarov," Price said. "Now, let's get moving. Soap, get on that dumpster," Soap did as he was told and stealthily climbed on top and looked over the building in front of him. At the other side was a tower with two Ultranationalists inside. "Can you see the guards?" Price asked.

"Yeah, I got them," Soap asked. "Do you want me to switch them off?"

"Not yet, let us get into position. When I give the signal, go loud."

"What's the signal?"

"You'll know when you hear it." He said with a smile then walked further into the junkyard. Soap had no idea what he was supposed to be listening for, but continued to watch the two guards. They both carried AK47s and looked to be only about twenty years old. Earlier, Soap would have been hesitant to kill men so young, but after doing it so many times, you got used to it if the payout was saving your own life.

He took five of the bullets out of his pocket and slid the bullet cartridge on the top of the gun open. The bullets were long and ended in a razor sharp point. They could punch through two inches of solid steel plating, and were above all else, extremely expensive. He silently swore that he would make every one of the twenty bullets he had count. That gave him four clips of ammunition for him to use, so he better make them all meet their targets.

Suddenly, he heard three bangs on metal and a bird call. He heard it a second time and realized that it was Price's signal. He aimed down the scope, lined up the target, and fired. The bullet punctured his chest, dropping him immediately. The gunshot was explosive, but not in literal terms; it was extremely loud, echoing through the area. The other guard hardly had enough time to react before a second bullet flew through his head, cleaving through it and leaving only a clean hole in both sides of his head.

The rest of the troops began to fire at the other Ultranationalists. Bullets flew everywhere, and Soap was seeing it all. From across the main road, he saw several shooters in the restaurant that they hadn't seen yet. Soap radioed them and warned them of the threat, Price complying. He shot three enemies then took out the bullet shells and reloaded the sniper with five more bullets. The firefight was brief, ending nearly before it had a chance to start.

Price held up his fist as he, Gaz, Kamarov, Griggs, and the SAS, Spetsnaz, and USMC scouted the area. Price looked back and motioned for Soap to come out. He and four other snipers ran out of hiding into the main group. Kamarov set a large map out on the ground and took out a knife to point to several locations on it.

"This is where we are now," he said, pointing at a road on the map as everyone gathered around. "Griggs and Soap will take up positions in the tower, Price and I will take up positions on top of the gas station, and all of the rest of you need to get in your disguises, hide these bodies and take their weapons in the next hour. The convoy will be here in a few hours, and we need everything in order before we attack, ura?" Everyone nodded, the marines more solemnly than the others. There were five of them in the group, the others in helicopters and in other places around the world.

Soap knew why they did so; 'Ura' was what Russians yelled for their battle cry, rhyming perfectly with 'Hoorah', which was what the Marines, Rangers, and US Military yelled as well. Soap sympathized for them, but did as he was told.

"Kamarov, I need you to see where the kid is and get a positive fix on his ETA," Price said. Kamarov nodded and walked away, but Price stopped him again. "Make it sharpish, we don't have much time." Kamarov rolled his eyes but nodded again, heading off to get on the radio while Soap unzipped a large suitcase they left in the back of the junkyard and donning the Ultranationalist uniform.

"Man, you look like a clown in that outfit," Griggs said. They were sitting at the top of the tower on the chairs that the guards used to be sitting in before Soap dealt with them. Luckily, they fell away from the chairs, so they didn't have to sit in blood. "You're lucky you're up here, bro. You don't look anything like a Russian."

"If you keep ranting on about it I'm going to wish I was down there." Soap growled, but he smiled all the same. He liked Griggs; he was happy that he was part of their SAS squadron. It had been nearly five hours, and still the convoy didn't pass by. Price and Kamarov were infuriated by the news and were trying to sort the problem out.

Meanwhile, everyone else was walking around, eating, and conversing around the area. Suddenly, they heard the far off sound of car motors. Everyone shot into position, Soap grabbing his G36C and L86 SAW as he stood at the lookout. Griggs carried an M16 Assault Rifle-not Soap's favorite weapon, but efficient enough. The convoy came into view-there were three armored vehicles, a troop transport, and two Panzer tanks.

The convoy stopped to refuel and get food and supplies. Gaz, disguised in a Spetsnaz officer uniform walked in front of the car third of the convoy. He remained inconspicuous, but he reported back almost immediately that Victor was inside of the car.

"Alright everyone," Price said. "Check you fire in the third vehicle, the target's in there. Javelin team, do you have a lock on the tanks and troop transports?"

"Yes sir," one of the marines replied. "We are locked on."

"Good," he said. "Now, open fire!" A hail of bullets flew around the area. Rockets crashed around the convoy, annihilating the tanks and other vehicles. Shrapnel flew in all directions, fire burning the ground the around it. That's when Griggs noticed something-Victor was driving the car directly at them.

"Shit, he's going to drive right into us! Hold on!" Soap grabbed the support beams, but the car crashed right into them. "Oh, f-" that's when everything went black.

Soap opened his eyes to see Victor firing shots from his M1911 Pistol. He jumped out of his car with more agility than Soap expected a man in his late thirties to have. Well, Captain Price being an exception. He heard the sound of a grenade launcher and the car exploded behind him. His vision blurred as he saw Victor look back in hatred, then sprint away.

Griggs pulled Soap up onto his feet and forced him upward. "Come on, we've got to get this guy!" Soap nodded and grabbed his G36C. He didn't know what happened to his SAW, but this rifle would do finely. They sprinted through the rows of cars in hot pursuit of Victor Zakhaev. "All units, we are in pursuit of Victor Zakhaev! Can you cut him off?"

"Griggs, Soap, this is Price!" he responded into the radio. "We're taking the back way into the village ahead! Swordfish is in position to provide assistance for you!"

"Roger that, Captain!" Soap replied. "Swordfish, do you have a view on the kid?" 'Swordfish' was the nickname of the helicopter support from the USMC that offered to help them on their mission to find Imran Zakhaev.

"Copy that, Bravo 6!" the pilot yelled. "Damn, this guy is fast! He ran into the alley, but there's a lot of Ultranationalists in the area! We'll try to clear them out for you!"

"Thanks, Swordfish!" Griggs yelled. "Come on, we can't let him escape!" They sprinted into the city, firing warning shots at Victor, but he was completely unfazed. Ten Ultranationalists began to fire at them, so they dived behind a car. Then, a large armored vehicle drove directly into their ranks, firing shots at them. Gaz was driving while Price fired into their ranks. He told them to hurry and they did so, chasing Victor through the city. Swordfish had to destroy several sections of a building that Victor ran into in his heated escape to slow him down and to destroy the machine guns firing at Soap and Griggs.

When they got near the roof, they could hear Gaz's voice yelling, "Drop the bloody gun, kid! I said drop it!" They must have taken one of the back ways, Soap thought. "Price, I've got a clear leg shot! We can end it here!"

"Don't, we can't risk it, Gaz!" Price replied. Soap ran onto the roof and saw Victor standing on the ledge of the building, staring into the muzzle of his pistol.

Soap cautiously walked forward despite Price's warnings. "Kid, give me the gun. We won't hurt you, alright?" Victor looked at Soap in resentment, and lowered the gun a bit. "Good, now just hand it over and we'll get you out of here, alright?" Then, he muttered something in Russian. Soap couldn't understand it, but Gaz could.

"NO!" He screamed. Then, Victor raised the gun to his head and shot himself through the temple. His eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fell backwards. Soap tried to catch him but his attempt was in vain; Victor fell off the building and landed twenty stories below, his body cracking as it smashed into the ground, lying in a pool of blood. Everyone rushed to see, but there was nothing to see. They had failed; again.

"Damn," Griggs muttered. "That kid has got some issues."

"Bloody hell," Gaz said. "He was our only lead sir." Price's face was full of resentment. How many times did they have to fail? First they failed to uncover the plot from Zakhaev, then they failed to save the USMC from their fate, and now they couldn't find Zakhaev because his son had taken the information with him.

"Don't worry, I know the man," Price said. "He won't let this go unanswered. Baseplate come in, we need a pick up. Zakhaev's son is dead. We're going home."


	17. Chapter 16: Ultimatum

"Ultimatum"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Altay Mountains, Russia

2011

_Imran Zakhaev was a man of few words. He betrayed very little emotion save for a few of the most powerful: anger, satisfaction, annoyance, and his most common-a completely neutral expression betraying not the slightest hint of emotion. When he saw the pictures however, he had felt something beyond all other emotions. He felt in insatiable rage, something that made him feel like some kind of hideous, monstrous animal that would do anything to spill as much blood as possible._

_ His dark knuckles were bone whit as he clenched the desk he held on to. His mouth was barred in a vicious snarl of hatred. He hardly noticed that he was growling more menacingly than a rabid wolf, or worse, a rabid grizzly. He seethed as he saw the picture of his son lying on the stone ground, a bullet hole through his temple and blood covering his body. Behind him were his men, the Ultranationalist forces that he had commanded for nearly twenty years._

_ After a few minutes of anger, he stalked around to face the few thousand men that were in the room. The rest were elsewhere, but all were listening to his message, either by radio or television. They cringed as they saw his fearsome appearance. They always did, even without his expression now. Why wouldn't they, when he was missing an arm? No thanks to Captain Price. He vowed to kill that wretched man if he ever saw him again, and his ever faithful intelligence reported that it was because of Price that his son, Victor Zakhaev, was dead._

_ "Our so called leaders," he began, letting them all listen to his thick Russian accent. "Have prostituted us to the west; they have destroyed our culture, our economies, and above all else, they have crushed our honor to dust." The Ultranationalists nodded in agreement, murmuring amongst themselves while he allowed his message to sink in. Then, he continued. "Our blood has been spilled on our soil. My son's blood-on their hands,"_

_ Yells of outrage and anger emitted from the crowd. A few shot random shots of their AK47s and AK74us into the air, though they were blank shots. Inside, Zakhaev was smiling in grim satisfaction at the reaction of his son's death. They all knew Victor and were now outraged to hear that their leader had been murdered in such a violent, horrible way. Zakhaev suspected Price killed him to drive him out of his lair, but it was not to happen._

_ "They are the invaders," he continued, raising his voice. "All United States and British forces shall leave our glorious Motherland immediately-or they're nations shall suffer the consequences." There was an uproar from the crowd, all calling for bloodshed. Zakhaev knew that he would avenge the death of his son and the loss of his left arm; and he would avenge it with Price's head mounted on his mantle._

_ "It's quite simple, really," Price said to the men in the AC130s. "We either take control of the Russian launch facility and stop Zakhaev from using those warheads," Price was referring to Gaz's report back at the day that Soap joined the SAS. "Or we won't recognize the world tomorrow. Is everyone clear?"_

_ "Sir, yes sir!" The SEALs yelled._

_ "Aye, sir!" The SAS yelled._

_ "HOORAH!" The marines shouted. Price looked around the cleared cargo bay at the men around him and thought of the men in the other AC130s that were hearing his speech. They were ending this war today, and Price would do whatever it took to end what he didn't finish in Pripyat. MacMillan had sent several of his best men to help with the ground assault and commissioned the old Tearing Squadron that had helped them get out of Pripyat. _

_ "Alright, green light to HALO. Let's move!" With that, the back seal hatch of the AC130 opened and they jumped into the frigid night. None of them noticed that Staff Sergeant Griggs was not with them._

"Alright, where the bloody hell is Griggs?" Price asked with a hint of annoyance.

"I haven't seen him since we made the jump, sir," Gaz said, looking around. "Staff Sergeant Griggs, this is Lieutenant Gaz, come in, over?" There was no response from the radio. Soap tried his, but there was no difference. His heart lurched at the thought that Griggs might not have made it through planet fall.

"Bravo 6, this is Baseplate," the commander radioed in. "Griggs just activated his emergency transponder. He landed about half a click east of your position."

"Roger that, Baseplate," Price said, loading his M4 Carbine. "Let's go." Soap was relieved that Griggs was alright, but if they didn't move fast, that would change quickly. They walked through the snow, their eyes darting around the area in case there were any Ultranationalists lurking around. At one point, two cars pulled over and they needed to shoot the men that got out of them. Luckily, their M4A1s were fitted into SOPMOD, where they were not only equipped with a red dot sight and grenade launcher, but an enhanced suppresser to make them stealthy when they needed to be.

Their boots crunched through the soft snow on the as they made their way into the outskirts of the city ahead. When they made it to the small village, they stalked inside of one of the houses. Ahead, there was a lone Ultranationalist sitting in a chair, sleeping. Price held up his hand and walked forward. He drew his dagger and plunged it into the man's neck, killing him instantly. They walked outside of the house and further into the village.

They searched every building, but did not find Griggs anywhere. The sky turned a shade of purple as dawn approached, and only got brighter in the shade of orange and then yellow as they continued their search for Griggs. Price looked nervously upward and told them to each search a house, for there were only three left. The sun would reveal their position like a spotlight, and they couldn't afford to fail after all the work they put into getting this far. Soap walked inside of an old house, but found no one. On the second floor, however, he heard talking behind a door.

"Why don't you give me the information that your mind contains and make it easier on yourself?" A Russian voice said on the other side of the door.

"My mind isn't what you think it is," said the taunting voice of Griggs. "I only know this: my name is Staff Sergeant Griggs, United States Marine detachment of the 21st Infantry. I also know that I'd rather die than tell you anything that my empty mind contains."

"That, my friend," came a second voice, along with the loading of a gun. "Can be arranged." That's when Soap kicked the door inward and shot the two men as they looked at him in surprise. They fell to the ground before they could say a single thing. To the right was Griggs, his arms strapped behind him in a chair they had stuck him in. His L86 SAW sat on a table to the left of him. Soap took out his knife and set to work cutting Griggs loose.

As soon as he did, Griggs rolled his shoulders and stood up, rubbing his wrists. The bindings had rubbed the skin on them until they were raw and red. Soap winced at the markings, but knew that Griggs was strong enough to bear through them.

"It's about damn time," Griggs said, grabbing and loading his L86 and grabbing his backpack from the corner. "I was beginning to think that you guys were going to leave me behind."

"That was my first thought," Soap replied with a smile. "But your arse had all of our C4." Griggs laughed as they walked outside. The dawn had turned to morning in mere minutes, and now they were in danger of being exposed to the sunlight. They regrouped with Price, Gaz, and two other SAS officers that landed nearby. The SAS were recognizable as Wallcroft and Griffin.

Price gave Griggs a curt nod and they continued on their way. As they walked up a large hill, the sound of propellers came and they dropped to the ground instantly. Overhead, two Hinds flew towards the village they just got finished clearing. They ran up the rest of the hill, knowing their time was limited. Ahead was a large power station sitting next to a tower linked to various others with power lines running down the hill to the main facility below.

Soap and Griggs placed the C4 on the legs of the tower, moved about ten meters away, and then blew the C4. The tower couldn't take the stress and tumbled down the hill in a smoking ruin on the ground. They cut through the fence to gain entry into the main facility as the other teams breached the defenses of the facility while the power was out. The electric fence was useless, allowing them to cut through it and get inside.

"Gaz, you take Soap and Griggs through this end of the facility," Price said. "I'll take Wallcroft and Griffin to the other end of the facility." Gaz nodded and motioned for Soap and Griggs to follow them. Klaxon alarms began to go off around the facility as the backup power generator kicked in. There was a hole in the stone wall around the main facility that they used to get in. As they walked into a large warehouse, they were almost instantly under fire from AK47 gunfire and RPG rockets. On the roof of the building ahead, a large turret turned towards them and opened fire, pinning them down. Soap could see the Ultranationalists advancing on their position as they took cover from the turret.

The bullets smashed through the stone walls, chunks of it flying around them and dust hanging low over the area. They looked behind them every so often to take pot shots at the men coming near them, but the turret kept them effectively pinned down. Then, a rocket flew past their position and into the turret. In exploded into a ball of fire, the Ultranationalists whipping their heads backward to see what had happened.

Then, more gunfire flew with the rocket and into the Ultranationalists before they knew what was happening. Price, Wallcroft, Griffin, and an entire squadron of American Marines stormed into the area, finishing off the men coming for Soap, Griggs, and Gaz. They stood up from their cover and moved up to fight with Price and the rest of the troops. They continued pressing onward taking out any soldiers they saw on the way.

When they reached the end of the outer facility, two armored vehicles drove into the area. The troops jumped out of the video and fired at them. They dove behind cover and fired back at them. When all was quiet, they ran down the road towards the inner facility. Then, two Ghillie Snipers rose from the trees. They aimed their weapons at them but they raised their hands in the air.

"Wait, it's the American sniper team!" Price stopped them. They lowered their weapons and jogged up to greet them. "You're Tearing Squadron, right?"

"That's right, Captain," one of them replied. "We've been commissioned by Commander MacMillan."

"He's a Commander now, is he?" Price said with a grin.

"Yeah, he is," he told him. "We'll cover you while you make your-what is that?" The entire area had turned a bright orange. They looked over the rise and saw a gray point fly up into the air. It was like a gigantic steel rod flying high up into the air, its massive jets shooting smoke to the ground. The earth rumbled and shook as it made its flight high into the sky. They looked at it in sheer horror-they were too late. Zakhaev was launching the missiles!

"Delta 2-1, we have a missile launch," Price screamed into the radio as they rushed to the entrance of the facility. "I repeat, we have a-" then, the area turned orange a second time as a second nuclear missile flew into the air. "DELTA 2-1! WE HAVE TO MISSILES IN THE AIR! THIS IS A CODE BLACK, OVER!"

"Bravo 6, we read you," the Baseplate Commander replied. "We are locked onto the missiles now and we're going to try to get the abort codes from the Russians! Try to retake the launch facility so you can upload them, over!"

"Roger that, Baseplate!" Price yelled, and then motioned for everyone else to follow him into the facility.

"It's on now, Captain," Griggs said. Soap couldn't agree with him more; after all, if those missiles weren't stopped, then the war was already over before it could start.


	18. Chapter 17: All In

"All In"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Altay Mountains, Russia – Nuclear Launch Facility

2011

"_If those nuclear missiles hit the Easter Seaboard," the Baseplate Commander said. "Then this war's already lost. What's the approximate total loss of life if they do?"_

_ "Sir, that'll be nearly forty one million American souls," the private next to him reported. The Commander swore under his breath and ordered for a 3D model of the underground launch facility. It was like a gigantic maze of tunnels and rooms. At the end of the facility was a massive control room where the launch codes could be entered to stop the missiles in flight._

_ "Do we have those launch codes, yet?" he asked the private._

_ "Negative, sir," he replied. "We're working with the loyalists now to work it out."_

_ "Get to it, Private," he ordered, then looked back at the screen. "It's all up to Price and his team now. They're the best men we've got, so let's hope that they'll get it done."_

"We're entering the main facility now, Baseplate!" Price yelled. A Hind rose up above the facility, but one of the snipers took it out with his Stinger missile. The rocket flew into the tail rudder of the gunship, sending it spiraling out of control and flying directly into the ground. The propellers crashed into it, causing the Hind to explode in a massive ball of fire.

Soap rushed to the wall and jumped over it and into the main facility. The other troops followed and they began to advance further into the facility. It was even more heavily fortified then they originally thought; at least one hundred Ultranationalist soldiers were waiting inside of the facility, and began to open fire on the team as soon as they entered it. Mounted machine guns began to tear into the team, killing two of the Marines as they came over the wall. One of the snipers a few miles out shot the gunners, but they would only be replaced by a new one.

Suddenly the crates they were hiding behind exploded into massive balls of fire, shrapnel and debris flying everywhere. A T-55 tank began to roll down the main road from the central launch area. They dove for more cover, but the tank would only blow it all to pieces before they could. Gaz threw a small canister at the tank. _Flashbangs won't harm that thing!_ Soap thought. Instead of a blinding light, however, it created a large smokescreen around the tank. _Smoke grenade!_ He thought.

Then, Soap realized he still had a pack of C4 and he rushed up behind the T-55 through the smoke to its weak point. He stuck the C4 to the back and ran back to the team. Then, he pulled the trigger on the detonator and the T-55 exploded, the canon flying off of it and into another one of the Ultranationalists.

They moved forward and continued to fight the Ultranationalists, fighting their way into the main launch facility where several of the missiles began to launch. They eliminated the men around the area and cut through the rear air ventilation systems at the back of the facility. They hooked up rappel lines and dropped into the underground area of the facility.

"We're all in, Baseplate," Price said.

"Let's do this," Gaz growled.


	19. Chapter 18: No Fighting in the War Room

"No Fighting in the War Room"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Altay Mountains, Russia – Lower Levels of the Nuclear Launch Facility

2011

"_What will happen when those nukes hit us?" The American Commander asked the Baseplate Commander. He knew full well what nukes did-what he wanted to know, however, was the kind of warheads they were._

_ There were three different types of nuclear warheads: the first, and most common, was the standard warhead, which was a missile that flew in the air and crashed to the ground in a massive explosion. The second, nicknamed the 'cluster head', was a missile that flew towards an objective, then split apart into several smaller warheads with equal destruction of a standard warhead, but had far longer range. The third type-and the least likely one to be fired at America-was the nuclear bomb, which was dropped from an airplane or other airborne vehicle on an objective, and example being Hiroshima in Japan._

_ "Commander," he replied. "The two warheads were cluster-class-"_

_ "Wait, did you just say there were _two_ nuclear warheads en route to the states?"_ _He cut him off._

_ "That's an affirmative sir," he said. "The US Marines and Special Air Service teams are infiltrating the launch facility now."_

_ "Then let's hope to god that they're quick." He growled._

_ "Team one moving into position," Gaz radioed in._

_ "Team two ready to breach," one of the Americans said._

_ "Team three is inside," Price reported. "Baseplate, do you mind telling us what we're up against, over?"_

_ "Bravo team, you're going to have to through about one hundred foot-mobiles with automatic weapons and turret emplacements surrounding the lower facility," Baseplate replied. "Once your teams get to the War Room, you'll need to enter the codes to self-destruct the missiles in flight. Luckily, that's the good news."_

_ "Great, so what's the bad news?" Gaz asked._

_ "The bad news is that we're still trying to get those abort codes."_

_ "The hell with it," Price said. "We'll give it our best shot. Let's go."_

Soap nearly gagged on the putrid air of the vents. They may not be moldy or dirty, but the stench was overwhelming. Griggs looked like he was just as mortified from the smell, but Price seemed to not care too much. He motioned for them to follow him through the vents.

Below, they could hear the unmistakable sound of gunfire and screaming-both English and Russian screaming. Price warned the men below to check their fire-a single bullet to the ceiling would shred through the metal and hit one of them if they weren't careful. The teams complied and continued to engage the men below. At the end of the vents, there was a large screen for the heating ventilation to circulate out, big enough to fit a grown man.

Price walked up to it and kicked it to the floor below. He jumped through, then Griggs, and then Soap. Soap looked around and found that they were in an old shower room. Two of the Ultranationalists lied dead at the entrance, and a few of the showerheads were spraying water in all directions after bullets flew into them.

Soap reloaded his M4A1 and noted that he was down to only three magazines. He was sure Price or Griggs might have a mag or two, but he also knew that they needed that ammunition just as much as he did. He would make sure to check his fire instead. They walked out of the shower rooms and into the main hall, where there were several Ultranationalists waiting for their arrival. Immediately, they fired on their position with AK47s, the bullets smashing into the floor where they had just been standing.

Griggs tossed a frag grenade from his utility belt and they waited for the explosion to go off. As soon as it did, they whipped around and shot at the few men left that weren't killed off by the grenade. They stalked inside of the kitchens and caught several of the men off their guard. As they moved into the storage rooms two floors below, Baseplate contacted them.

"Bravo 6, we have the abort codes," he said. "Unfortunately, you only have about fifteen minutes before those missiles hit the Eastern Seaboard."

"Roger that, Baseplate," Price said. "Come on, we've got to move!" They rushed down the stairs and into the storage room. Boxes and crates lied strewn about the area, providing cover for the Ultranationalists but also providing cover for Price, Soap, and Griggs. They couldn't, however, use explosives in the storage room due to the fact that an explosion could cause the nuclear materials in the base to detonate. They would have to send in a Hazardous Material crew into the base to safely dispose of the materials.

They fired into the men as they slowly worked their way into the facility past the storage rooms. Once they did, they were forced to go through the barracks. It was another five minutes before they were through, the bodies of nearly thirty fifty soldiers behind them. From the barracks they made their way into the launch bay where the nuclear materials were loaded and readied to fire. Once again, they couldn't use any means of explosives unless they wanted to die of radiation.

At the end of the main hall were two large steel doors that were sealed shut and impossible to move. Price radioed in for Gaz, who was in the middle of what sounded like a very violent struggle. After a few moments, Gaz yelled, "This is Gaz, do you copy?"

"Roger that, Gaz," Price said. "We need you to open the doors to launch control, over."

"Roger that Captain Price!" He responded loudly. There was more gunfire and Soap could hear Gaz swearing violently. Then, all was silent save for Gaz tapping buttons on a console. Then, the doors began to slowly move open. They aimed at them, but the doors were truly moving outward in an excruciatingly slow pace.

"Are you shitting me?" Griggs exclaimed.

"Gaz, can't you make the doors open any faster?" Price asked.

"Negative, sir," Gaz replied. "But you can try pulling it if it makes you feel better." With that, he cut the link as he came under fire again.

"Cheeky bastard," Price muttered, getting a grin from Soap and Griggs. When the doors opened, they ran down the hall, exchanging brief gunfights with the Ultranationalists. By the time that they were in the outer halls, there was only two minutes left. "We're taking a short cut!" Price said, placing a pack of C4 on the stone wall. They moved back and he blew the wall to pieces. Inside, Gaz and the rest of the teams were firing at the Ultranationalists. They helped them take care of the rest, and Soap-knowing the launch codes when Baseplate gave them-rushed to the consoles.

Eventually, he found one that wasn't shot and madly typed the codes in to the computer. They anxiously stared at the display screen at the front of the room. Price paced at the back, nervously darting glances at the screen. Then, Baseplate radioed in.

"You've done it!" He exclaimed. "The missiles have been stopped in flight! There's a lot of debris but most of it is falling in the ocean!" Everyone in the War Room cheered at the news-they had done it. They had saved the millions of people that would have died if those missiles had hit. That's when Soap noticed something at the corner of the monitor. He clicked it and sent it through to the main screen. They watched it and saw about twenty Ultranationalists at a landing pad.

In the center of it was a large Hind, already prepared to take off. The Ultranationalists were loading into their cars and troop transports. Then, Soap zoomed in on a man with a dark black jacket and dark jeans. He had dark skin, a gray beard-and one arm.

"It's Zakhaev!" Soap exclaimed. Price tensed as he said his name. "Sir, he's escaping!"

"Then we're going after him," Price growled. "I'm going to finish what I didn't fifteen years ago." Soap nodded and brought up another screen-the layout of the facility. At the back was a vehicle depot, which was currently abandoned.

"We can use those trucks back there to escape the facility," Soap said. "The main highway is ten miles west of here, and we can rendezvous with the Loyalists about fifty miles down it!"

"Let's go, then," Price said. The teams ran through the facility, then took the lifts up to the main area where the vehicle depot was.

"You know, sir," Griggs said as they rode it upward. "I wouldn't mind getting a shot at Zakhaev."

"Well stand in line, mate," Price said. "It all depends on if he gets to us first." Griggs nodded and the lift stopped and the door opened behind them. As soon as they left it, they were under fire again, but only by a few stray soldiers that didn't make it to the rendezvous point with the rest of the Ultranationalist forces in the middle of the main facility.

As they entered the vehicle depot, they noticed that there was no one else there. There were four armored vehicles for them to escape in, as well as a stockpile of weapons to the side. Soap was relieved, finally able to get more ammunition. In one of the cases, he found an M4A1 with an ACOG Sight. He shrugged and took it-ACOG Sights made one see farther then with a red dot, but it wouldn't do that much to distract him from targets if they encountered any trouble to the rendezvous point. He took it and jumped into the back of one of the trucks. He loaded his M4A1 and sat on one of the crates.

Gaz tossed and RPG in the back, Soap giving him a questioning look. He shrugged in response, only saying, "We might need it." Soap smiled and sat looked out as they drove out of the depot and into the bright day. Price was driving, Griggs was in the front, and Gaz was sitting in the back while Soap rode behind all of them. No matter what happened, the four of them would face it together. Whatever it was they would be facing.


	20. Chapter 19: Game Over

"Game Over"

Sergeant John 'Soap' MacTavish

Altay Mountains, Russia – Main Highway

2011

"_Bravo 6, the primary exfil point has been compromised," Baseplate said. "Move to the secondary objective south of the bridge. Enemy presence: substantial." The Commander sounded worried, making Soap think that there must be a very large amount of Ultranationalists waiting for them. The team looked at each other nervously. From what Baseplate had told them, there was a chance-a very large chance-that they wouldn't make it out of Russia alive._

_ Soap fingered the safety on his gun, switching it on and off periodically. The RPG was already loaded, three other rockets lying in the back next to him. Gaz loaded his G36C, and Griggs cocked back the pin on his L86 SAW. They knew full well that they might not make it out, but they weren't going out without a fight._

_ "It's just too hot, man," Griggs said with a nervous laugh, trying in vain to burst his morale. "But-but room temperature? Please, a beer should be ice cold."_

_ "A lager, maybe," Price said as he continued driving. "Or a glass of water like you drink; but a pint of stout?" That got a laugh out of Griggs._

_ "I'm going to have to school y'all both once we get back state-side." He said._

_ "Yeah well we're stopping in London first," Gaz replied. "I'm buying-one for all of us."_

_ "At least the world didn't end," Soap said. _

_ "Hit it." Said Griggs._

"HOLD ON!" Griggs yelled. The truck screeched as the tires slid on the highway. They had sped down the mountainside to get to the highway faster, but apparently Zakhaev knew Price well enough to expect that. Bullets flew from over the mountainside as eight armored troop transports chased them. Cars on the highway honked at them in anger and confusion, trying to evade their frantic escapade.

Soap stood up and fired the transports. The windows were bullet proof, so he couldn't just shoot the drivers. Instead, he had to fire at the men in the backs of the large vehicles, which wasn't too easy with Price's mad driving. He fired a magazine at the men in the back and dived down to reload while Gaz took the position instead.

Once he was reloaded, he aimed at the men and fired at the rest of them. Price sped up and Soap aimed at the man in the front seat. He lowered the window to fire at him, but Soap was faster, killing him and the driver and sending the truck flying into another.

He did the same with the next one, but it simply crashed into the mountain. They sped inside of a tunnel, but three more of the trucks came up next to them. One stayed behind them and the other two moved up on their side.

"Their trying to box us in!" Gaz yelled. Griggs nodded and took out his last frag grenade, tossing it into the back of the truck next to them. It exploded, sending the truck out of control and into the side of the tunnel. They had no more explosive ordinance now, and were forced to use their rifles, machine guns, and other weapons instead. Then, a man with an RPG stood up on the truck behind them. Soap wasn't fast enough, and the rocket crashed into the road in front of them. The car flew high into the air, but it landed on its wheels and they were able to continue on their way. They finished off the men in the truck behind them, but were nearly thrown free when the second truck rammed into the side of their car.

The tunnel ended and boasted a view of a large cliff on the other side of the highway. Price rammed the car into the side of the truck and continued to do so until it flew clear of the highway. It smashed through the guard rails and plummeted over the edge. It smashed into the rocky mountainside, erupting into a ball of flame and metal, shrapnel flying every which way. Gaz, Griggs, Soap, and Price high fived at their accomplishment, but they weren't out of the fight yet.

They fired at more trucks behind them, when suddenly a large Hind flew over the mountain. It fired missiles at them, but Price sped up the car to dodge them. The missiles instead smashed directly into one of the troop transports, igniting the highway into oblivion. Soap took the RPG from the back and mounted it on his shoulder. He aimed and fired, but the missile flew off. He swore and loaded another rocket, aimed and fired. Once again, the missile flew past it.

Neither of the other missiles hit the Hind, but yet it didn't fire at them either. Instead, it flew off away from them.

"That Hind is bugging off!" Price exclaimed, surprised.

"It must have run out of ammo!" Soap said with a large grin on his face.

"Yeah, well that's good enough for me as long as-" Gaz said, then was cut off.

"OH SHIT!" Griggs yelled. "HE'S GOING TO TAKE OUT THE DAMN BRIDGE!" Soap looked up and saw two missiles fly from the hind and smash into the bridge ahead. "HOLD ON!" Griggs yelled. They did just that, and then flew up and over the destroyed stone bridge. They crashed right into it, and Soap's vision went black.

"The bridge isn't going to hold, move, move!" Price yelled frantically. Soap's vision was blurry, but it soon came back into being and he saw Price in front of him. He grabbed Soap's arm and pulled him to his feet. He scrambled upward and followed him up and out of the wreckage. Cars and trucks lied strewn about the annihilated bridge, and a tanker was leaking gasoline behind them.

As soon as the four men got to the top of the bridge, they were under fire. More armored vehicles and troop transports sped onto the highway. They dived behind the burning cars and fired back at the Ultranationalist forces. The soldiers dropped like rag dolls, but for every one that they killed, five more would take their place.

"Baseplate, this is Bravo 6! We've been compromised!" Gaz yelled. "We need an immediate pick up at the bridge!"

"Affirmative, Bravo 6!" The Commander replied. "We'll be there ETA twenty minutes!"

"Bullocks!" Gaz swore. "Useless wanker!" Soap agreed but continued to fight.

"Gaz, what's the status on those helicopters?" Price asked.

"Price, we're on our own, sir!" He replied.

They were now caught on the bridge without backup and Soap was beginning to run low on ammunition, only one magazine left. He called to Price and he tossed him another Magazine. Griggs only had about ninety shots left in his SAW, but was able to hold his own.

"Bravo 6, this is Sergeant Kamarov," a new voice came over the radio. "Your informant says that you are in need of some assistance?"

"It's bloody good to hear from you, mate!" Gaz replied. "We need an immediate dust-off at the bridge!"

"Standby, we'll be there in a minute!" Kamarov said, and then he cut the radio transmission. They continued to fight, but then the Hind returned. It fired two missiles at the tanker behind them, and everything was over.

Soap's vision had gone blurry again, and he couldn't see anything clearly. He saw Griggs rush up to him, but it was all in slow motion, and he knew full well what was going to happen if he couldn't get his senses back. Griggs pulled Soap by his armpit and dragged him across the highway towards one of the cars to get him behind cover.

He had to drop him in the middle, though, as more of the Ultranationalists began to shoot at him. Griggs snarled and brought up his L86 SAW, mowing down the men ahead of him. He fired at two more, and then turned his attention to some others. As soon as he did, a bullet flew right into his forehead, blood spurting out of the back. Another volley of shots flew at him, smashing into his chest. He was dead before he hit the ground.

Soap tried to reach for him, but couldn't move as he was bleeding out. A silent tear fell from his eye as he watched his friend's lifeless body crumple to the ground. He turned over onto his back and saw the Hind fly ahead, lowering to the ground. He looked to his left and saw Price behind a burning car, a grievous wound to his stomach. Their eyes met, Price's full of sorrow. They had failed so many times now, and it was time for them to die as well.

Soap looked back down the highway and saw three men walking towards them. There were two guards with AK47s, and then there he was-Imran Zakhaev, a Desert Eagle pistol in his hand. He looked at the carnage around him in satisfaction. Then, he saw movement in front of him. Gaz was waking up from his unconscious state. He looked upward and into the dark, unforgiving eyes of Imran Zakhaev. He raised his hand as if to shield himself, but Zakhaev had already fired. The bullet tore through his head and flew through his jaw. He died instantly.

Soap's heart lurched as he saw another friend die in front of his eyes. "No," he groaned. "No. This isn't how it's supposed to end." Then, a missile flew at the Hind and it exploded behind them. Zakhaev and his guards whipped around and fired at the Loyalist Hind that had come into the area.

"You're right," a voice said. It was pained and scratchy. Soap looked over at Price, trying in vain to sit up. "This isn't how it ends, Soap. This is." With what little strength he still possessed, he slid a small object to him. It was Price's personal Colt M1911 pistol; on the handle it read CPT Price, taking the place of dog tags. Price's eyes rolled in the back of his head and he fell to the ground. Overcome with grief and anger, Soap grabbed the M1911 and raised himself on one arm. He shot the first guard, then the second.

Zakhaev watched his men fall to the ground in pools of blood. He slowly turned around, sensing his own demise. Soap raised Price's pistol, aimed at Zakhaev's head, and fired. The bullet flew straight and true, hitting its mark. He fell back and onto the ground, his blood staining the highway. Soap dropped the pistol and threw up on the ground next to him. He fell back and looked up in the sky, knowing that like his friends, he would die, too.

Then, instead of a blue sky, a gray shape flew over him. In the state he was in now, he couldn't make sense of what it was, but then watched as four rappel lines fell from the back of the gray shape. Suddenly, his vision came back and he watched Russian Loyalists fall from the back. One of them rushed up to him, yelling orders to more Russians from other Hinds that were coming into the area.

"MacTavish!" He yelled, coming to his side. "It's okay! You are going to be alright, my friend!" He yelled more orders in Russian they lifted him onto a gurney, strapping the rappel lines to it. Soap collapsed and looked to his left. He saw Nikolai trying in vain to perform CPR on Price. He began to hit him on the chest, but it did no good. Soap already knew he was gone. He looked up at the Hind as it began to raise him upward into the sky.

"The fighting has finally come to a close," a British newscaster said into her microphone, broadcasting across the world. "Although World Leaders were quick to denounce the action, Russian officials state that a series of nuclear missile tests in Central Russia have fell well into established UN protocols. No response has been made by the Ultranationalist party, where signs of a possible leadership struggle have just begun to surface. In other news, however, as ship lost in the Bering Strait due to a major storm, has been called off."

The television went black. Soap shook his head and passed the Colt M1911 across the table to a man at the other end. "Can you believe that load of bullocks?" Soap asked.

"Not at all," Price replied. They were wearing new uniforms and walked under a new insignia, the sign of the Task Force 141. The USMC General in America recruited them for their heroism in the war, and they had taken the offer whole-heartedly. They still carried the tags of Gaz and Griggs, who didn't live long enough to make it to that point. They mourned them every day, but they had more urgent matters to attend to. "You know, I hear that there's a place in London that sells simply amazing drinks." Soap smiled.

"Well, as long as you're the one buying," he said. "I'm game." Price smiled and tipped his cowboy hat at him.

"What are we waiting for, then?" He asked. "After all, the war's over, isn't it?" Soap nodded and the two friends rose from the SAS barracks. They shook hands with Wallcroft and Griffin, whom were staying with in England. They walked out of the barracks into a bright, summer day with smiles on their faces. After all, the drinks in London were very good at this time of the year.


	21. Chapter 20: Operation Kingfish

Call of Duty: Modern Warfare

Operation Kingfish

Captain John 'Soap' MacTavish

Karkonosze Mountains, Ukraine

Day 3, 11:32:18 Hours, 2014

3 Standard Years after the Death of Imran Zakhaev

_He sat in a dark room, a metal table in front of him. On it laid an M4A1 Assault Rifle, the new design from the M4A1 Carbine. Directly in front of him was a Colt M1911, a type of memento and reminder to the man who was individually loading pointed bullets into its magazine cartridge._

_ He wore dark pants and a gray t-shirt that read TF 141 on the front. His hair was short and cut into a Mohawk, vertical tattoos running down his face. A new scar ran down his right eye. Another man in his late fifties stood at the other end of the table. He wore an American uniform and a hat that boasted four stars to show all that he was the rank of General. There was a grim silence in the room save for the periodic clicking of the bullets being loaded into the magazine. The man in the United States uniform was smoking a large cigar. He pulled it away and blew out smoke into the air._

_ "Start from the beginning," he said. It seemed as though the man hadn't heard the General talk. After a few minutes, he still hadn't responded. Then, with the glimmer of tears in his eyes, he lowered the magazine, loaded it in the M1911, and sat there. He blinked the tears away but still didn't talk. The General sighed in strained exasperation. "I know what you're going through, MacTavish; but I need to know: what happened?" He looked up at the General, his eyes full of pain and despair. Finally, he spoke up._

_ "It was three days after we had landed," he began._

"This is Captain Price of the 141, reporting in," a man called into the radio. He was in his late forties, gray hairs poking through his dark brown mustache and hair. His name was Captain John Price, leader of the small group known as the 141. Shepherd may have owned them, but Price was the one that they truly took orders from. Behind him walked his best friend, the newly appointed Captain, John MacTavish, but everyone called him by his nickname, Soap.

The two were practically legends for preventing what could have been a catastrophic war between Ultranationalists in Russia and Saudi Arabia and the United States of America. They were recruited to join the elite Task Force 141 under Shepherd's command, and they immediately jumped ship from the SAS (Special Air Service) to the 141. Behind the two were six other men. Their nicknames were Roach, Ghost, Sandman, Truck, Grinch, and Frost. The last four were only helping them out for this last mission, however, as they were returning to the United States Military directly afterward. Roach and Ghost, however, were new to the 141-they hadn't even met Shepherd for orientation yet.

For their mission, they were hunting down the new leader of the Ultranationalists whose codename was 'Kingfish'. The previous leaders, Imran Zakhaev and Khaled Al-Asad, were already dead-killed in the last war. Now, however, they had a new and-rumored, of course-more dangerous leader. They doubted that Kingfish could be any more dangerous than Zakhaev or Al-Asad, but they weren't taking any chances. Their orders were to kill or capture Kingfish, but they doubted that any Ultranationalist lunatic under Zakhaev's command would ever come with them quietly.

They were on the outskirts of the Pripyat territory, and Soap had already been attacked by two wildly vicious dogs. The city was uninhabited now and would remain that way for thousands of years before the radioactive material surrounding it dissipated. A small encampment two miles ahead of them was where intelligence had last spotted Kingfish, so they were going in there. After all, it was there best shot. Price wasn't happy about coming back so close to Pripyat; eighteen years prior, he and a Scottish Captain had gone on a mission to assassinate Imran Zakhaev, but he had failed to do so until Soap finished their blood feud three years ago. The memories of what he had seen and endured here still haunted him to this day, but he wouldn't let that get in the way of their mission.

The forest was beginning to thin out into a vast plain. They peered down the hill and spotted the encampment. There were many abandoned buildings, all being used to house the Ultranationalists. A Russian BTR rolled down the road in front of it. The BTR-or the 'Bronetransporter'-was a massive Russian military tank. On the top of its six inch armor plated hull sat a fully armed PKT Heavy Machine Gun. It also had two large semi-automatic cannons that could be swiveled around at a 360 degree angle to acquire targets no matter which way the tank was facing. It rolled on eight large tires rather than treads, making it very maneuverable. It was also very difficult to destroy. A single pack of C4 would take it out, but they didn't have any C4 packages. They only had under slung grenade launchers attached to their rifles and a few hand grenades and Flashbangs, none of which would damage the BTR, let alone destroy it!

"This is Sniper Team One," another man radioed in after Price's call. "We're in position and ready to take shots at the guards near the barracks." The sniper team was a small group of three men: there were two snipers dressed in Ghillie suits (which allowed the wearer to perfectly blend in with their environment save for the fact that the suits were ridiculously uncomfortable) and an infantry troop to provide cover for them if they were discovered. Scoped weapons didn't do very well in CQB-close quarters battle-situations.

"Roger that, Team One," Price replied as they watched what was going on at the encampment below. Two guards paced on top of the barracks, looking around for anything suspicious. Beads of sweat rolled down Soap's face. They heard two gunshots that resounded together across the valley and down the hill. Suddenly, they saw dark blood fly from the heads of the two guards and they dropped dead. They stood up and rushed down the hill towards the encampment.

"This is AC130 Gunship Spectre 6-4," the gunner said. "141, we have hostile foot-mobiles approaching your position from the old playground area, over." The screen showed the infrared version of what the 141 could see. At the back of the destroyed playground were about fifteen contents. He flipped two switches and manned the turret controls on the 150 millimeter cannon. He took aim just in front of them, then pulled back on the controls, pulled the trigger, and fired the massive rocket.

It flew downward and exploded in the center of their group. Severed and mutilated limbs and bodies flew every which way, killing them instantly. Those contacts may have been neutralized, but a building to the East was reporting about thirty contacts.

"Smoke that building!" The navigator behind him ordered. He nodded, changed direction, and fired again. The rocket smashed directly into the building, annihilating everyone and everything inside of it. The old stone building couldn't take the stress caused by the force of the explosion, and it collapsed in a smoking heap of rubble.

"141, you are cleared for entry." The gunner said.

The Ultranationalists rushed forward, aiming their AK47s directly at them. Soap raised his M4A1 and shot three men as they rushed down the hill. The gunfire increased dramatically, forcing them to take cover behind the ruins of an old store house. Price held his hand out in front of them, ordering them to stay put. He cautiously looked out over the side of the building, nearly getting his head taken off by incoming fire.

Soap switched to his grenade launcher and whipped out from behind the building. He fired a round into the men at the barracks, their instantly-killed bodies flying away. Price called in a strafing run on the Western barracks where the majority of the fire was coming from. Several shots from the 50 millimeter semi-automatic cannon fired into them, destroying the barracks. They looked out but were no longer greeted by enemy troops.

"Spectre 6-4, give us an entrance!" Price yelled. His response was the sound of a 50 from the sky, the rocket crashing into the front of the building. They rushed into the smoke and rubble inside. Three men were standing there, stunned at the sight of the destroyed wall. In their shock, they were not quick enough to react and were easily picked off by the 141. Price ordered Sandman, Frost, Grinch, and Truck to wait outside and cover them while they searched the rest of the building. Sandman, the leader of the small team, complied and set them in positions around the building.

As they stalked inside, they realized that there were far more troops in here than there were previously thought to be. Ghost walked ahead of them, taking point. At one of the smaller rooms, he crouched down and held out a hand for them to stop. He took out a grenade and threw it inside. There was screaming and then two men flew out of the room. Ghost shot the two before they could get up-if they could get up-and they continued to clear out the complex building. As they got closer to the command center of the building, they were forced to go through a long hallway. Every door inside was crawling with enemy contacts. They were nearly killed at everyone, which Price got increasingly angry and he decided to throw grenades in the last three rooms. They were too small for anyone to fly out of or escape from, which meant that the frags killed the troops as soon as they saw them.

At the end of the hall was a single door; there was a bathroom on the right side of the hall the middle room was on, and a vending machine at the other.

"Anyone got Russian money?" Roach asked with a grin. Soap laughed and shook his head. Next, he put a charge on the door and blew it wide open. Price blew the charge and yelled, "FLASHBANG!" The metallic object hit the floor and stunned the men inside. Soap winced, remembering the painful experience where he was hit by one of them back in Russia three years ago. They moved inside and killed the men, but none of them was Kingfish.

"Baseplate, this is the 141," Price said. "There is no sign of Kingfish. I repeat, there is no sign of Kingfish."

"Roger that, 141," Baseplate replied. "Collect whatever data you can and regroup at the LZ." Soap was looking around and found pictures of an airport, locations, weapons, maps, schematics, blueprints, and anything else that Kingfish could find useful. Soap couldn't make sense of any of it, though, and tried to wrap his mind around it all. That's when he saw a familiar picture on the wall. It was a photograph of the old SAS team three years ago. He saw Price, Wallcroft, Gaz, Griffin, and ten other members he'd known. Nikolai was there, too, and so were he and Price. Everyone, though, had an X crossed across their face. There was a circle around his and Price's.

"Price," Soap said, his eyes widening in revelation. "You've got to see this." Price turned to look at the photograph.

"What is it?" He asked.

"It's Kingfish," Soap breathed. "He's targeting Bravo 6." Bravo 6 was their old squadron in the SAS, and they were formerly part of it. What Kingfish had against them, he didn't know, but he wouldn't find out, either. That's when they heard a beeping sound. They looked around and Price saw a pack of C4 strapped under one of the tables.

"BOMB!" He yelled. "GET DOWN!" The bomb went off and everything went black.

The old man lit a new cigar and blew on it, the tip turning red. He took it out of his mouth and blew smoke into the dark room. Soap MacTavish sat at the table still, clutching the M1911 with a death grip. His knuckles had turned white from holding it so tightly. He was sweating and breathing heavily, his blue eyes hardened. He looked at the General across the table from him.

"It was a trap," he said flatly.

"I know," the General said. He blew on the cigar again and then crossed his arms and stared at Soap with a hard glare. "Now; tell me more about what happened to Price." Soap stiffened. He looked back at the M1911, looking at the name CPT Price engraved into the handle. He closed his eyes tightly and resumed his recollection.

"Spectre 6-4!" Price cried, ducking under a hail of gunfire as the team sprinted through the woods. "We're taking heavy fire from fifty-plus foot mobiles behind us!" They had regrouped with the American team and were now racing across an open field outside of the stretch of forest. Bullets smashed into the ground around and in front of them.

"Roger that, 141,"the gunner said. "We're stirring up the hornet's nest." The 25 millimeter machine gun fired down from above, tearing into the men behind them. "Whoa, hot damn! That's got to hurt!" The gunner exclaimed. That's when a missile flew from the smoke and dust where the men were just being fired at.

"Is that rocket fire?" The AC130 pilot asked.

"Shit, spark the flares!" The navigator yelled in panic.

"Deploying flares!" The gunner yelled.

"FLARES, FLARES!" Suddenly, the AC130 lurched and threw the men inside around as the rocket hit the gunship. Another rocket flew up into the air.

"Shit, there's another one!" Price yelled to Spectre 6-4.

"BANK RIGHT, BANK RIGHT!" The navigator screamed. The pilot cried out as he tried to do so, but the rocket smashed into the cockpit, destroying the AC130 in mid-flight. They watched in horror as the plane crashed into the field, pieces of metal smashing around them. Spectre 6-4 was destroyed before their very eyes, the lives of all the men inside extinguished in an instant. Price ordered them to keep moving, despite the fact that burning debris was falling from the sky, crashing dangerously close to them as they made their panicked escape to the LZ where the 'Little Bird' would pick them up. Suddenly, Soap heard more yelling in Russian from the right side of the forest, and the sound of an RPG being fired. The rocket propelled grenade crashed into the ground next to him, throwing him a few meters away.

Blood covered his face as he crashed into the ground. He tried to push himself to his feet, but his arms and legs felt like rubber and he collapsed, heaving, into the ground. He saw the team divert their course to protect him, taking up positions around him. He felt a pair of hands grab him by his shoulders and drag him backward, while Price, Ghost, Roach, and Sandman stood in front, firing at the rapidly advancing soldiers.

"All of you get out of here!" Price ordered. "I'll hold them back as long as I can!"

"We're not leaving you, Captain Price!" Ghost protested.

"That's an order, Ghost! Now GO!"

"Fine," Ghost said, then rushed back to help whoever it was that was pulling Soap. Price tossed Soap his M1911, telling him to use it well. Soap was confused at what he said, not knowing what to think. He looked up to see the Little Bird helicopter fly from the cloudy sky and land behind them. A few moments later, he felt himself being dragged on metal rather than the course ground. Sandman ran to the cockpit of the Little Bird and tried to stop the pilots. Soap couldn't understand what was going on and why he was trying to stop them from taking off. That's when he realized that Price was not on board. He still stood out there, firing his M4A1 at the incoming troops.

"STOP!" Sandman screamed. "We've still got a man out there!"

"Sir, our orders are to take off immediately!" The pilot protested.

"No, we're not leaving anyone behind!" Soap watched Price fighting out there, dropping any soldiers that came near. He reloaded his gun, vulnerable to incoming fire. Soap tried to stand up and go help him, but was forced back by Roach. He told him to stay down, and that Price would come any second now. Roach didn't look very positive, though.

"If we stay, we're all dead!" The pilot yelled, shoving Sandman away. "Prepare to take off!"

"Get that bird in the air!" Price yelled from outside. _No_. Soap thought. _He couldn't be staying there!_ Soap struggled against Roach, and weak as he was, he was winning, about to rush outside. Sandman helped him stay put, and yelled to Price to get back in. He couldn't, however, because the back hatch began to close. Soap held out an arm for his friend, hoping he'd turn and get on board. He didn't. More bullets flew around the Little Bird and blocked Price from doing so. Soap screamed Price's name and the hatch shut, sealing Price away from the evacuation.

Price watched the Little Bird fly away in sorrow. In those few seconds of his distraction, a bullet flew into his leg. He cried out in pain and fell down. His M4A1 was out of ammunition, so he took out a spare M9 pistol instead of his M1911, which he had given to Soap. He shot a few rounds at the Ultranationalists, but another bullet flew into his shoulder. He winced in pain and fell back again, then looked up to see the soldiers converging around him. It was over.

Tears streamed down Soap's face as he concluded. Price was dead; he was killed in action. KIA. Gone. Forever. The General blew smoke into the air, shaking his head. He stomped on a lever at the bottom of the trash can next to him, throwing the cigar inside. It landed with a small sizzling sound at the metal bottom. He crossed his arms and waited to see if Soap had anything left to say. After a few pained minutes, he still didn't say anything. The General spoke.

"So," he said slowly. "That's it?" Soap, whose teary-eyed face had transformed into a disfigured, unrecognizable mask of pure anger and hatred, smashed his fists into the table top.

"WHO IS KINGFISH?" He screamed. The General glared at him, and then shrugged. He grabbed a tan-colored file from behind him, unsealed it, and tossed it across the table to Soap. It slid across the metallic surface and came to a halt to the left of him. He stared at the file. Written in large red letters was the word 'Classified-Authorized Personnel Only'. He slowly opened the flap and was met with a photograph.

The picture showed a man in his late twenties. He had pale skin, nearly chalk white. He had dark eyes and unkempt hair. He had the form of a sneer on his face. At the bottom of the picture were words written in clear, black ink: MAKAROV_VLADIMIR "KINGFISH". He glared at the picture, his eyes darkening as he stared at the picture. He slid out a knife from sheathe on his belt and held it outward in front of his face so he could see the shiny blade. There were pointed spikes on the bottom of the knife, making it even more deadly.

"Don't worry, Captain," The General said, staring at his expression as he glared at the picture. "We'll get him."

"Give me the first shot," Soap replied with a snarl. "I'll kill that bastard." With that, he plunged the knife into the picture and into the table top. No matter what, he would not stop until he got this man, this 'Vladimir Makarov'. If this was who Kingfish was, he'd finish the mission that they had started. Whatever the cost, whatever it takes, he would avenge Price.

**Well guys, that's the end of my first book! Check back for the next one, Call of Duty: Modern Warfare 2! Also make sure to review this story and tell me what you think!**


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